beneath the steady waves of fearless hope and grace
by PoeticPsychopath
Summary: I never asked for the ability to play God. But I couldn't ignore it, either. Changing how the future played out, keeping as many people as I could alive- maybe this was what I had to do in order to return home. Regardless, I had to do something.
1. Chapter 1

**author's note:** _cheesy summary, i know. i've had this idea in my head for the longest time- it feels like almost three years now. and what started as a simple "what if" scenario snowballed into the actual motivation to write it out. i wrote, and wrote, and wrote for a long time. scattered pieces, wherever inspiration came, but it burned out suddenly and i was discouraged. seven months ago while talking to my girlfriend, i mentioned this idea to her. even let her read some of what i had previously written. and with her endless patience and encouragement, i started writing again. so this is a long fic, one which will basically rewrite what happened on tvd. lots of things won't be the same; some people who died won't be dead anymore and others who survived won't make it out. i don't have too much planned in regards to what will happen, and nothing is set in stone. i'm just sort of writing as i go, trying to make this as authentic as possible and not forced. i hope you give this fic a chance, though i don't blame you if it ain't your cup of tea! happy reading ~_

* * *

Rays of sunlight softly illuminated the room, washing over unfamiliar white walls and unfamiliar furniture. The muffled sound of singing birds greeted my ears as I rose— _since when do birds ever sing around here?—,_ muscles stiff from sleep. I surveyed the room with bleary eyes, though not bleary enough to _not_ see how blatant it was that I was not in my own room. Seconds passed in silence _—_ a silence I was deeply unaccustomed to. _No cars passing? Honking?_ An ache began to form in the pit of my stomach. _This isn't…where_ was _I?_ A swift _knock knock knock_ to my right answered me, breath catching in my throat.

"Breakfast is almost ready! Caroline will be here in twenty—are you dressed?"

It took a moment for me to settle myself. Lips parted automatically, yet no sound escaped. They only trembled slightly, the dryness of my tongue making it hard to swallow. _Breathe, just breathe. There's gotta be an explanation for this, right? Think now, freakout later._ But the outright unfamiliarity of the situation—the utter _surreal-ness_ of it—hurt me to the core. Jagged pains cut across my chest, every breath a struggle to shudder out. A quick glance down revealed a comforter wrapped around my pant-less form. Half-naked and frozen in fear, knuckles white from the strain of trying to anchor myself to the bedsheet, I choked down a pitiful, strangled whimper.

"Are you still in bed?"

Eyes flickered around the room and back to the door again, legs curling toward myself apprehensively. There was no other means of escape besides the door and window to my left. I wanted so desperately to be calm, to stay level-headed, but the instinct to run was bigger.

"If you're not up and ready in _five minutes_ , I am going to come in there and drag you out of bed myself. You hear? Time starts now."

There was a soft _pitter patter_ of feet, blatant mumbling, and then nothing.

I sat there, no less than terrified. _Would the fall from jumping out the window break anything important? Even if it did, I'd still be able to call for help, right? What if there aren't any other houses outside? Could this be a staged neighborhood? Is this even a real house? What if—_

With a sound halfway between a groan and a sob, I carefully pulled back the covers and slipped out of the bed, taking extra care to not make any noise. Tiptoeing to the window, something out of the corner of my eye unexpectedly moved. I couldn't help but turn as fast as I could to face it. Staggering like a fool, I realized I was staring into a full body mirror.

An oversized shirt, underwear, and nothing else made up my outfit. Something which did not make very good escape material. A frantic glance around the room didn't help much, as I grasped soon after that there was no other clothing out in the open for me to wear. I shook my head before snapping out of it and focusing back on the window.

It was locked. Maybe I was still drowsy, but I couldn't find where the latch was. My fingers fumbled over the sides, on the smooth glass, and even around the window itself. I huffed in annoyance, gritted my teeth, and threw my hands in the air in exasperation.

Standing in the middle of the room, watching the door, it was obvious; there was no other way out. Either I open the door now, or whoever shouted at me would—and I preferred to not be caught off guard by a possible murderer.

My hand hesitated above the knob—I realized the door wasn't even locked—and let my skin slowly descend upon the foreign metal. There was a hushed clink, quiet groan, and then silence. The hallway was dimly lit, the curtains having been drawn closed.

I took a tentative step but recoiled when I heard a voice.

"Dammit—we're out of strawberries."

I could hear someone—the same person from before—muttering to themselves. Something closed with a thud, and a shadow moved across the pale kitchen wall.

Moving as if cement blocks were tied to my ankles, I flattened myself in a corner of the room, suddenly becoming intensely aware of the fact that I was not wearing a bra. I managed to, after a brief pep talk, make my way along the wall and to the kitchen, where the hefty smell of pancakes—which in any other situation would make me salivate—made my stomach churn. I took a deep breath, prepared myself, and peeked around the corner.

It took a lot for me, in that moment, to not stumble back idiotically and fall right on my ass from the shock. Because the girl in this kitchen wasn't just some average joe who kidnapped people for a living, or some twisted thing like that—it was _Kat Graham_.

And let me tell you, waking up in the home of a celebrity out of the blue isn't as glamorous as people make it out to be, either on the internet or anywhere else in general. It's much scarier. And illegal. With a touch of _insane_. Oh yeah, not to mention, I have no recollection of ever meeting her before today. So, add that to the list.

Yet, even as my heart threatened to crawl its way up my throat and past my teeth, Kat did not seem…normal. There was something seriously off about her. Of course, I'm not one to judge (I suppose a possible hostage situation grants me some judging rights, though), but she looked oddly young, and like… holy shit, she looked very young— _too_ young.

She stood in the middle of the brightly lit kitchen, carton of milk in one hand and a bottle of syrup in the other. She set them down, almost like a cat (no pun intended)—careful, yet fast. Facing my general direction, eyes scanning the fridge rapidly, her mouth curved unevenly into her signature, perpetual _almost_ -smirk. Frustration wrinkled her forehead; there was a black flutter of hair whipping around her head, like some sort of halo, as she nudged a cabinet door closed with her knee. A soft snort of laughter escaped her too, one which sounded oddly familiar in that way that makes your stomach sink, and I couldn't help but back away, eyes wide.

This wasn't a decade younger Kat Graham, here, in a random kitchen, in some house, in a place god knows _where_ —no, this was Bonnie _fucking_ Bennett.

A fictional character was less than five feet away from me, and despite my reeling mind still stumbling over the similarities—I knew. I just _knew_. It's not as if knowing didn't stop me from freaking out, though. I all but practically ran back to where I woke up, choosing instead to hide then to confront whatever nightmare I'd been thrown in to.

With the door closed and locked, I let myself crumble to the ground, unsure of how to proceed. A small part of me still wanted it to be Kat Graham outside, but to be honest, that didn't make the situation any less terrifying. I knew it wasn't. I was a huge fan of Vampire Diaries, especially the first six seasons, and I could tell this was not the actress—no, it was the _character_. And that explained how she looked younger. Yet this explanation left me with a hell of a lot more questions than answers.

Swallowing thickly, I tried to calm my trembling which gradually worsened and closely resembled the turmoil going on inside my head. I was somehow in a strange room, with a _fictional character_ standing right outside, and I was supposed to be ready or else she was going to come in here and—

Caroline.

She'd said Caroline earlier. _She'd said Caroline earlier._

I couldn't bring myself to get up. Instead, I allowed myself a moment to pull on my hair before squeezing my eyes shut and focusing. I didn't know where I was, why I was here, why there was a fictional _fucking_ character in the kitchen, or what was happening. How lovely.

Last night was clear—I had slept early because I wasn't feeling well. After drinking tea and refusing to accept possibly becoming sick, I shut myself in my room and burrowed under a ton of blankets. So… how did I get here? And where is here, exactly?

If Bonnie was in the kitchen, and Caroline was on her way, then this must be Mystic Falls—as ridiculous as that may sound. I was in Virginia, apparently. Somehow, despite having lived in California all my life, I ended up in a fictional town overnight.

The window overlooked a front yard, plain and green; there were a few cars parked by the sidewalk, and no one was out. An alarm clock by the bed showed the time: 7:30AM. There was a calendar above a small work station in the corner. The month was April.

No, it was _March_.

In my haste to flip through the calendar, I caused it to fall. The year on the front cover was 2009.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat again. No—it was _2018_. It must've just been an old calendar that was never replaced. Nine years, though…whoever slept in this room needed to update their things. Keeping a calendar hung up that was almost a decade old? And here I thought _I_ was a mess.

Shaking off the creeping feeling of unease, I began searching the drawers by the bed to see if there was anything of use—maybe something familiar. Something I could use—as for what, I didn't know.

While elbow deep in a drawer full of shirts, something gleamed and caught my eye— _a_ _phone_.

I grabbed it, fumbled for a second, and watched in horror as it clattered to the ground. Dropping to my knees, I cradled the phone and let out a shaky breath when there was no sign of scratches or a cracked screen. _Get it together_.

It was an iPhone, and the picture that lit up when I pressed the home button was of Bonnie, Caroline, Elena, and finally, me.

Yes, me. _Me_. I was there, leaning against Bonnie with Caroline's arm around my waist on my other side, and Elena's body against my back. She was trying to climb onto me, her head just above mine, and I remembered— I _remembered_. Matt wouldn't stop laughing and hold still enough to get a clear picture, and I had to bribe him with food to get him to calm down.

The memory flashed vividly, ran its course, and faded into the background of my mind. The whole time I sat there, confused, while I watched the events play out. I knew— _I remembered_ —but how? How…if this entire thing—waking up in a room I didn't recognize with Bonnie Bennett making me breakfast in a town that _definitely_ didn't exist was just _so_ not right?

My thoughts became a jumble of curse words, and as I curled myself into a ball, wishing everything would go back to normal, I heard footsteps approaching.

"Food's ready! Are you dressed?" Silence. "If you don't answer me, I'm going into your room. Don't test me!"

Half-sitting up, unsteady hand pushing my hair from my face, I said the first thing I could think of. "I don't feel well."

My voice was croaky, rough, and low. The words echoed pathetically through the door and to the other side, and I heard shuffling from Bonnie.

"What do you mean? Are you okay?"

Her concern made me frown, and I managed to pull myself up on unstable legs and clutch the drawer.

"Feel sick."

"Sick? What kind?"

The knob turned, stopped short, and was slightly jingled.

"Don't know. I want to sleep."

The knob was turned once more. "Let me in so I can check on you. Do you need something?"

"Can't, in bed. It's cold." I paused. "Just need rest."

There was a sudden stillness on the other side. I shifted nervously from foot to foot—the fear that she would somehow know something was wrong, that I was wrong, that this entire fucking conversation was just plain _wrong_ and she'd do something, something that involved me possibly being murdered—weighed heavy on my shoulders.

"You sure? You don't want me to make one of Grams' teas? I think she left some of her herbs here a few days ago. Those always make you feel better."

Grams. She was still alive. It had been a while since I had seen any old Vampire Diaries episodes, seeing as I used to watch only when it aired on TV, and didn't re-watch any past seasons. I also stopped watching after a while. The show went downhill, ruining my favorite characters along with it. I remembered how and what season Grams—Sheila Bennett—died. But I had no idea what the timeline was. I knew every season wasn't a new year, but I didn't know the exact dates. If that calendar was actually accurate…then April 2009 didn't ring a bell. I didn't know what point in time I was in.

"No—I'm just tired."

"Okay. I'll tell Caroline, then. We'll have to reschedule."

I hummed in response. My mind was beginning to whirl again.

"Get some rest, Sam. I'll check on you in a bit."

Blood thrummed in my ears, my vision faded momentarily, and I almost choked on my own saliva.

She knew my name. Bonnie Bennett knew my _name_.

I crawled onto the bed and piled blankets onto my trembling body, hoping desperately that when I woke up, I would be back home.

It was wishful thinking.

* * *

There was a soft knocking on the door, and I kicked off the covers with a start—

I was still here.

Eyes closing to ease my building panic, the disappointment was enough to cripple me. This was a nightmare.

"Hey Sam, you doing alright? Need anything?"

Bonnie's voice made me feel intensely empty inside. Some part of me still hoped it was my mom on the other side, and in the span of a blink, my surroundings would become the same four walls that have housed me for almost all my life.

"No, I'm fine."

"Alright. Caroline says she hopes you feel better soon. Even said she would make you cookies." The warmth in Bonnie's voice made my face crumble. It felt all too familiar—but that was something for me to worry about later.

"Oh… that's sweet of her." At my awkward pause, Bonnie laughed softly.

"Yeah, that's Caroline for you. She left a while ago. I'm surprised she wasn't disappointed we cancelled our plans."

"Sorry about…that."

"Don't worry about it. You sure you don't need anything?"

I nodded even though she had no way of seeing me. "I'm sure."

"If you say so. I'll be back soon."

And with that, she was gone.

* * *

Bonnie returned a few hours later, bearing cookies and tea. The sun had begun its lazy crawl down the pale sky, something I still managed to find beautiful despite my predicament. Once Bonnie had left, quiet footsteps fading away, I snatched the tray she left me. My back hit the wall farthest from the door as I slumped down, half sitting and half crouching, a trembling hand curled around a warm ceramic mug.

The floor, covered in scattered clothing, served only to remind me of how desperately my fingers had gripped each and every piece of fabric—hoping, wishing, praying—that something, anything, wouldn't fit so goddamn perfectly.

The ache was returning, causing my eyes to sting with heat, the threat of tears nearly overwhelming. I couldn't let myself cry, though. There was nothing to gain from it—except swollen eyes and a trash bin full of tissues. I extended my legs, letting myself fully stretch, tea almost spilling over the rim. A spoon rolled off the end of the tray, clattering loudly in the harsh silence. It clinked against the smooth metal of a picture frame off to the side—one I had flipped over in order to escape what my mind, still reeling from shock, could not comprehend. _Caroline and me in roller skates. Elena, Bonnie, and me eating bright pink cotton candy. Matt and me soaking wet next to a waterfall—_

I ignored the spoon, opting instead to pretend it never existed, and took a shaky sip of tea. The taste of warm honey, smooth and thick, slid down my aching throat. I hadn't realized how thirsty I had been, my attention having been focused elsewhere since waking up here. Shallow breaths, eyes squeezed shut— I knew I needed to come to grips with what was happening. This wasn't a game, some ruse to mess with my head. This, in every sense of the word, was real. And I was caught right in the middle of it.

Darkness crept along the walls, at first slow and steady, the change in the room almost imperceptible—but then all at once, I was shrouded in dull, fading light. The tea, no longer warm and silky, caused a cold pooling sensation in my stomach. Upset and still hungry, the mug clattered to the floor along with the tray as I stood, shoulders hunched and eyes bleary.

Before I knew it, my fingers were clawing at the sides of the glass window, desperate and slightly crazed, unwilling to accept my fate—whatever it may be. A sharp, slicing ding from a phone— _my_ phone— somewhere on the ground made me almost scream, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the sound of my uneven breathing.

The device, small and smooth in my hands, was hidden under a messy pile of shirts near the bed. The vibration which followed after the sound gave it away. Pressing the home button, the screen lit up brightly, a new message covering the lock screen photo which made my eyes sting ever so slightly.

 _Hey, are we still gonna go on our run tomorrow?_

It was from Matt. I stared stupidly at his message, torn between asking myself if this was a regular occurrence, and how I was supposed to unlock the phone. Two sharp dings answered me.

 _Caroline told me you weren't feeling well. You still under the weather?_

 _By the way I helped her make cookies, hope you liked 'em._

I smiled fondly for a brief moment, touched, before my lips curled into a frown and I flung the phone away. I couldn't even let myself _think_ about it. It skittered across the hardwood floor until a few socks prevented it from going further. I stared down the offending piece of technology, scowling, but my facade was ruined when another ding sounded loudly. Reluctantly, and feeling a bit like a child, I grimaced before lifting the surprisingly still intact phone.

 _If you don't feel like running, you mind still spending the day together? Sorry for the spam._

The smile appeared again, warm and affectionate, brightening my eyes for a few seconds. _Of course,_ my mind seemed to whisper, _I'm always here for you_. A surge of emotion coursed through me then, like a rush of water, filling my chest, lungs—making it hard to focus on anything besides the jump in my heartrate. I didn't know what was happening, unable to move or break out of the sudden spell which had taken hold of me. As if by their own command, my fingers typed out a four-digit passcode—0816—and I blinked stupidly as the phone lay unlocked in my hands, Matt's messages greeting me.

My fingers…they had moved so quickly, with the kind of precision someone has after knowing their password by heart for so long that it ceases to be a password and becomes a rhythm. A certain movement. Biting my lip, the nervous twitch of my hands starting again, I wondered— _how did I know it in the first place?_ I chose to ignore it, for now.

In a matter of minutes, the walls that'd been sunset-painted became swept by dark moonlight. I sat there, contemplating what to do, how to respond. The phone screen must've dimmed about 15 times, the frantic _tap tap tap_ from my fingertips bringing it back to life.

My temples throbbed along with my eyes. I knew what I had to do, what choice I had to make. Staying hidden in this room, although preferable, was not ideal. It wouldn't get me anywhere. And this—Matt—might give me something. _Anything_. I was desperate, and as my fingers began to type, it occurred to me that I never really had a choice in the first place.

 _Hey, Matt. I'm feeling better. A run sounds good, actually…_

* * *

 **author's note:** _so. hope you liked it so far! this is an unoriginal concept, i know. there's a plethora of fics out there with a similar premise. but i aim to make it original in its own, unique way. many thanks to my beautiful girlfriend Isabel (princelesthottie) for being the beta for this fic and dealing with my constant negativity, huffing and puffing, and overall mess of a writing style. i wouldn't have been able to do it without her. so blame her for letting the light of day see this and also practically threatening me on multiple occasions for almost giving up. this won't be perfect by any means, but it's a chance for me to improve my writing and explore something that... that i've always wondered about. so yeah. enough rambling on my part ~_


	2. Chapter 2

**author's notes:** _was technically supposed to upload this tomorrow but hey, the chapter is done and ready so why not just jump the gun? in case y'all are wondering, i'm hoping to stick to a schedule of once a week (every wednesday) for uploads. enjoy ~_

* * *

It was Sunday. Light gray streaks lined the sky, the purples and blues fading altogether. I dressed quickly, my entire workout outfit mismatching and wrinkled from having spent the night in heaps on the floor. When I had left the room, I realized I never even really got a good look around before. I only knew the living room, briefly, and the kitchen. It was only when I had gone in search of Bonnie's room, wanting to know whether or not she was awake, that it hit me— _who else lived in the house?_

I was 10, for goodness sakes, when the show first aired. How was I supposed to remember who Bonnie lived with? To be fair, it was a 50/50 shot. Either her Grams or her dad. And to be quite honest, I wasn't too keen on finding out anytime soon.

Practically choking on the last of my frantic mixture of too dry cereal and thick banana slices, I shoved everything I used to make myself food in the sink. One final glance in the living room mirror proved to show that I looked about the same. Same dark, dark brown eyes. Same dark brown hair and light brown skin. I pretended not to notice the extra softness of my hair, how it caught in the light. I tried not to linger on the surreal smoothness of my skin, the lack of acne scarring or craters or dark spots. And with some difficulty, I struggled to overlook the fact that I was clearly a few years younger too, and instead just focused on opening the front door without making a single sound.

My hand, suddenly heavy, hesitated. The cool, cool metal did nothing to appease my fear. As brave as I could pretend to be—I was scared shitless. The entire time I had been shoveling food into my mouth, my eyes had been practically glued to the window, which overlooked the front yard (much like the window in the room I was in). The occasional car passed, silent and gone within seconds. Sometimes the whisper of wind would flutter the leaves on the tree in the front yard. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to fear. What I was looking at was the poster picture of a serene, lazy morning. The perfect view to feast your eyes on as you began your day. And that, above all else, was what terrified me beyond belief. It was _too_ quiet at 7 in the morning. Too _still_. The calm before the storm was how it felt. The second the door was open—all bets were off. In that room, down the hall, I could lull myself into believing that this was all a dream, perhaps a hallucination. But out here, exposed, my back to a house which wasn't supposed to exist, everything felt too goddamn real.

So, I don't blame myself for shaking as I closed my eyes and let myself, once again, touch the door knob. I don't blame myself for holding my breath and twisting my wrist like my fucking life was on the line. I don't blame myself, because it took a lot for me to open the only barricade between fiction and myself—to allow myself to meet another world I had been unaware of until just yesterday. The door, thank the universe, swung open smoothly, without complication. Trembling, I stepped outside onto the porch, knees slightly bent, feet positioned to run in case I needed to. But I wasn't planning on the sun, soft and buttery, immediately warming my skin, making me feel like I was being embraced.

My knees hit the pavement, bones stinging from the impact, and I snapped my head up, suddenly desperate, suddenly hungry—starved beyond belief of such simple contact. A strangled gasp stuttered past my teeth, hand steadying myself as I hunched over, eyes burning and stomach twisting painfully. My heart was pounding so hard it made my head swim, the sound of my blood rushing muting the outside world for a brief moment—and then there was just silence. I knew I was about to pass out because my vision blackened around the edges, fraying like burnt newspaper, and I had to get a grip and _breathe_.

I swallowed gulp after gulp of air, only stopping when caught in a coughing fit. Forehead pressed to the ground, I closed my eyes—half in exhaustion and half in order to prevent the onslaught of tears that threatened to come.

Somewhere nearby leaves rustled gently, being caressed by a breeze, the singing of a few birds mixing sweetly with it. The sun bore down on me almost kindly, soothing the cracks in my armor that were starting to deepen.

 _I want to go home_ , I thought, heaving a weary sigh. _I want to wake up from this nightmare and be back home—_

— _I don't belong here._

With a tremble in my legs I ignored, and a slight sting in my knees, I dragged myself up and onto the porch step behind me. My hair was mussed and a clump of strands were out of my ponytail, sticking to my damp face and neck. The heat was already rearing its ugly head, and I huffed in annoyance when I let my hair down and it tangled between my fingertips. I wasn't okay. I knew rationally that I couldn't go through with this. The second I saw Matt I'd probably only breakdown and lose it some more. I knew I was unstable, seeing as a few angry tears escaped the corners of my eyes, the ponytail mess pushing me over the fragile edge I had been balancing on. But I didn't have any other choice. Running away wouldn't do me any good; I didn't even have any money on me. I had to figure out what was happening. Had to wriggle all the answers I could out of Matt. And that could only happen if I didn't look like someone just died in front of me.

Sniffling, I smoothed my hair down as best as I could without a mirror, a few beads of sweat collecting on my upper lip and chin. Wiping my eyes with one hand and dusting my knees with the other, I watched the sun, shining beautifully, climb the sky—slowly, almost shyly, as if for the first time. I sat there for a little while, enjoying the heat that seemed to chase the cold away from my bones and flush my skin. It wasn't until there was a sudden snap of a twig shattering my trance that I opened my eyes and stood quickly, on instinct, almost tripping on my own two feet in my haste to take on a defensive stance.

Everything was white for a split second before my eyes adjusted to the blaring light—and I was suddenly staring into gentle pools of blue. I froze, lips parted for a greeting which couldn't seem to squeeze out of my lungs.

Matt smiled widely, eyes dancing in amusement and head tilting to the side as he let out a slight laugh at my expression. "Sorry about that— I thought you read my message." He chuckled softly, a flop of blonde hair messily covering his forehead.

I managed to stop my racing thoughts enough to stammer out a— "Oh _right_ , that. It's uh… on silent."

Matt was tall, almost a whole head above me, with broad shoulders and a lean figure. The shirt he had on, a faded gray which clung to him perhaps a bit too tight, contrasted the black sweats which hung low on his hips. I groaned internally, frowning. _How did I forget that everyone in the Vampire Diaries universe is attractive as all hell? I swear to god, it's like no one below a fucking 8 exists in this world._

"That's probably not the best idea." He grinned, flashing his teeth which, I thought glumly, were brighter than my future could ever be. "But I'll try to make more noise next time." He added, bowing his head to hide another smile.

"I've been jittery." I tried to laugh, but it sounded more like an awkward huff. "Thought sun bathing would do me good." My shoulder rose and dropped noncommittedly, but I half-smiled, forcing myself to relax just a tiny bit.

"Jittery?"

"Yeah…" I trailed off, realizing after a beat of silence that he was looking for an actual explanation—one I couldn't really give at the moment.

I just… _couldn't_ stop staring. This was—this was Matt Donovan. Star football player, Mystic Grill busboy, human hero, Elena's current boyfriend. Here he was, right before my very eyes, looking every bit the young teen type, _much_ younger than I was expecting. Some part of me, still convinced I was hallucinating, didn't think of him as real. My hand was suddenly in front of me, touching his shoulder before I could properly register the fact that I had even decided to move—and I barely restrained a flinch at finding the solid body beneath my fingertips. His shoulders moved slightly with his rhythmic breathing, and I could tell he was warm even through the thick shirt. Warm. Alive. _Human_.

"I…" The sentence died on my tongue, not having thought so far ahead as to come up with a reason for my actions. My hand dropped just as I felt heat creeping along my neck and heating my cheeks, embarrassment flooding my expression.

"Sorry—I… I don't know." This time I did manage to laugh, but the sound was too somber to be considered good-humored.

"Hey," Matt's eyebrows pinched, that…familiar crease on his forehead deepening. "It's fine. How're you feeling?"

He leaned down, looking me over quickly, not waiting for my response. The corners of his lips lowered, a sudden contrast to his previous mood. "Maybe we should skip our run for today."

My mouth opened in protest, yet it shut just as quickly. I didn't feel like arguing over something so trivial—I was lucky he didn't get completely weirded out by me touching him out of the blue—so I just nodded, giving an awkward smile. "Being sick is driving me nuts." I offered, hoping it was explanation enough.

"I don't doubt it, Sam. I'm surprised you even got sick in the first place. What happened to your year streak?" It took me a few seconds to realize he was teasing me.

"Ah… _right_. Yeah, that's gone now. I'll try again soon, I guess." I managed a laugh, as weak as it was.

"Well then, let's hope you recover fast."

Matt nudged me with his arm, playful, and started walking down the pathway, heading toward the sidewalk. Soon we were making our way down the block, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. I realized then that I hadn't felt uncomfortable in his presence at all. It was like I had known him for years.

I decided to add that to the pile of things I chose to ignore.

* * *

The crunch of leaves beneath our feet as we made our way into an opening in the trees soothed my nerves enough to let me think somewhat clearly. My reaction before had been expected, but now I had to act normal enough to get what I needed from Matt. Despite my brain telling me to be cautious, I couldn't help the way my heart practically _ached_ with unbridled affection. It was strange enough being in this world that existed only in fiction, but having my body split into two different reactions? I can roll with a lot of crazy shit, but this one _just_ might take the cake.

"Matt—" I stopped, short. Unsure of what to say, but really it was just that I had _too_ much to say. What could I possibly ask first that wouldn't sound suspicious? Or like I lost my mind?

"Yeah?" He encouraged, when he noticed I wasn't going to continue my sentence.

"Last night," I paused briefly, gathering my thoughts, "you said you wanted to hang out today, regardless if we were running or not. Which, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about, but is there any reason why?" Another pause. "Or did you just miss me?" I added, trying to keep my tone light.

He laughed, rolling his eyes. "You think I'm capable of missing you when I see you practically six days a week? Pssh, yeah right."

"Ouch. I regret not flaking on you, now."

"And spend your Sunday indoors? Not to mention _sick."_ Matt shook his head vehemently. "Nah, you wouldn't have."

"Whatever you say." I held my hands up, slowing down my steps when he stopped and letting myself plop onto the soft grass. "That doesn't answer my question, though."

The ground was surprisingly comfortable. I could imagine laying back and watching the day pass with some good music and company…maybe even staying here so late that the stars and dark sky are all that could be seen, cool breeze all that is felt. Imagining morphed into remembering, and it hit me like a train that it was a memory I was thinking about, not a scenario I'd thought up.

"Right." He said, bringing me back to the present with a rush, sitting down across from me with a sigh. "My mom came home yesterday."

Despite not knowing what those words meant, my body seized up in what I recognized as panic, heart lurching in my chest.

 _Oh no. What did she do? Is he okay? Did she hurt him? I swear to god—_

"Yeah, I felt like that too." Matt chuckled at me, but his face didn't hold much humor. "She didn't give us any warning this time."

"Ah," Inner monologue distracting me, I struggled to compose myself. "What happened?"

"We… fought. She brought Pete with her, and Vicki flipped when they came inside and mom asked her to make him a sandwich while he waited for her to grab some things." He frowned as he spoke, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. "I had to stop her from trying to throw a glass cup at him." There was a slight quirk to his lip, but his eyes weren't smiling. "Almost didn't want to. But I couldn't let things escalate like that."

He rolled his head on his shoulders, muttering something about feeling sore, before laying down. The sun, high in the cotton candy blue sky at this point, shone sweetly onto Matt's body, sheathing him in a blanket of warmth. Eyes closed, voice faraway, he continued speaking. I watched him, trying my hardest to stay quiet, because there was a roar in my head. A sudden rushing of blood, my heartbeat fast and loud and I didn't know what was happening to me. I wanted to cry and scream and threaten his mom—it was almost as if…I was observing the events unfolding in front of me, hearing this story and taking it all in while my body, my instincts, all protested against my stiffness, wanting me to _do_ something.

"… and the only reason my mom was there was to tell us she wouldn't be able to give us the full amount of the check she sends every month. That, and how she wouldn't be coming back for a while." He almost scoffed at that. "She grabbed some things from her room, took Vicki's tub of ice cream from the freezer—and almost, almost got out without too much of a problem, when she asked me to give her $20 for gas.

"It's almost funny—I had that exact amount in my pocket, but was planning on getting some groceries, since I hadn't gone in almost a week and there was no milk. Vicki and I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, and I was just about to head out when my mom arrived. Vicki knew, and she knew I'd give my mom the money without saying anything, so she cut in and told her no. That's when shit hit the fan."

He draped an arm across his face, shielding it from the light, and remained silent for a few beats. I could feel a few tears spilling over my cheeks, hands shaking so bad from the desire to touch him, give some comfort, and from the entire helplessness of the situation. Pressing a fist into my stomach, the pressure distracting, I grasped at anything which would reel me in, bring me back into myself.

"I managed to get Vicki out without them actually getting into it. But… some nasty stuff was said. After they left, Vicki started crying, and, you know her. She rarely ever cries. She started telling me all these things about moving out and getting a place for ourselves. How we'd never have to see mom again. But…we don't have the money for that. At least, not right now. Not with all the bills we have to pay.

"I don't know. I really don't. I'm barely going to be a junior in high school—have a lot of other things to worry about already, without adding that to the list."

"Matt…" I couldn't seem to say anything else, voice threatening to crack. Instead, I laid down beside him, fighting the urge to hold him all the while. "I'm sorry," was all I could muster, and I flinched, feeling useless.

 _I won't make any promises that it'll get any easier, but you aren't alone in this—_

My teeth clamped onto my bottom lip, painfully so, but the voice broke free for a moment, sweeping me to the back of my mind.

"You're never alone, Matt."

My eyes closed on their own accord, the sharp jabs in my chest enough to make me feel like I was hyperventilating. I hadn't even considered our conversation taking this turn. I thought I could get the ball rolling about myself and find out what I needed to, but now I was roped up in something which quite frankly shouldn't be happening to someone who woke up in a fake world with fake people and _goddamn_ it—why me?

Half of the words I seemed to say were mine, and the other spilled from my lips without permission, without thought. It was natural, a habit. And as I rolled over until I was against Matt's side, shoulder bumping his, smiling when he turned his head to look at me—I knew that I wasn't in full control of my actions, either.

* * *

Some time passed, the sun settled itself high in the sky, and we both grew hungry. I was afraid to go back to Bonnie's place, especially once I checked my phone and the screen lit up with about 10 messages and two missed calls. I wondered why she had stopped trying to reach me, and was grateful for a few blissful seconds until Matt's cell rang loud enough to make me trip.

He barely glanced at the caller ID. "Hey Bon." My lips pressed into a line. "Uh, yeah. She's with me." He side-eyed me quickly. "Oh, I think I know why. Her phone is on silent." He laughed at my scowl, shoving me with his shoulder. "Don't worry, everything's fine. We skipped our run today and are thinking of where to go grab a bite." As if on cue, my stomach rumbled lowly, "Yeah, I'll bring her back home later. Enjoy your Sunday. Bye."

"So Bonnie—"

"Was worried about where you were. Did you leave all your clothes on the floor?" He raised an eyebrow but sounded amused.

"I couldn't find something to wear." I lied, feebly.

"Well, she thought something had happened. Anyway, she's doing something with Elena today. Told me to keep an eye on you."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure."

"Don't sass me."

"I didn't say anything to sass you."

" _Liar_."

"Are we going to argue or are we going to eat?" He laughed, mussing my hair from the top as if I were a child.

Pouting, I resisted the urge to swat his hand away. "Agh—okay fine. What're you craving?"

"Don't have much cash on me. Something cheap?"

"I don't even know where my wallet is." I admitted. "Or if I even have any money…"

"How's my place?" He offered.

"Actually, let's do mine." I said, remembering all the food there was in Bonnie's kitchen, and could picture Matt's drastically empty one in comparison.

My jaw ticked, in annoyance. I didn't like not having full awareness of my body, I mean— _who would?_ —but it irritated me how I kept seeing things I don't remember seeing. I had memories that weren't mine and felt such affection for this person who wasn't _real_.

I could feel a headache coming on, my temples beginning to throb. I wanted to scream and shove Matt and demand answers, but I couldn't. I _couldn't_. This is something I needed to play smart, something that could only be done if I wasn't such a mess. With a clear head and better grip on my emotions—I'd get what I needed. I just had to be stable.

* * *

Mouth full of food, a piece of pork chop on the end of his fork, and a look of heaven on his face—Matt Donovan was quite a sight. Here he was, up close, completely relaxed and enjoying what we cooked. His hair was messy with a few pieces of grass clinging to the ends, and it was such a soft sandy blonde color; I loved the way it shone in the light. The shape of his jaw had a hint of roundness gracing where the sharp edges should be. His skin was young and fresh—and his build, strong and lean but not bulky. He was around 16 years old, innocently eating his fill, not at all aware of the danger that would soon consume his life and the lives of those around him.

There was a part of me that was still hopeful I'd wake up where I belonged—one that wished this was something I could put behind me. It was all a weird dream I could tell my friends about and laugh off, dismissing the fear I had endured in it despite it feeling all too real. The longer I watched Matt, hungry and unafraid, worrying about his home life and how there wasn't enough food in the fridge for Vicki and him to eat, the sharper the pain in my chest seemed to become.

Was he real? He felt real, acted real, ate like a real person. His worn running shoes and old shirt were real. There seemed to be a gleam in his eyes only someone who was real, alive and breathing, could have. And I couldn't forget the blatant fact that I loved him. I really did. He seemed to love me, too. Seemed to want to spend time with me despite how little I offered him. And if I closed my eyes hard enough—if I let myself pretend that I really lived here, in Mystic Falls—I could see myself spending the rest of my life with him.

It was in the purely platonic sense, too, which made it only hurt more. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, I could see, feel—knew how easily it would be—to fall in love with him. But this went deeper than that—he was a brother, a friend, a father figure, a _crucial_ part of me. I loved him. It was as simple as that.

And it hurt me, to have these emotions coursing through my veins while I still wasn't sure of what was happening. It hurt me, because I _knew_ all of this without ever having been here before. I knew this even though I _shouldn't_. My feelings, my thoughts, my heart—all seemed to be split into two: the Sam that apparently grew up here in this fictitious town with fictitious people, and the Sam that grew up in California, watching the Vampire Diaries and falling in love for the first time with Damon Salvatore at age 10.

Though I was afraid, and rationally so, I knew that getting what I wanted wouldn't be achieved by just sitting here, eating away my pain. I was going to have to walk that fine line between curious and suspicious. Asking too many obvious questions wasn't an option; there had to be another way to coerce answers—something I could hold onto—from Matt. I glanced up just as he was reaching for a napkin, cheeks puffed up from how much food he had in his mouth, making him look like a chipmunk.

"You want more tortillas?" My tongue rolled the last word on habit, my accent making me pause briefly in surprise. It's not like I had forgotten my ethnicity, or that I was bilingual, but it seemed so foreign here, in this world. So out of place. But Matt smiled up at me warmly, nodding his head as he shoveled more food onto his plate, making me realize with a sinking feeling that he probably hadn't eaten breakfast—or dinner, for all I know. _How bad was it, at home?_

Putting more tortillas on the _comal (1)_ , I thought over possible lies to tell Matt, musing over which would cause the least amount of suspicion yet evoke the most answers.

"You know," I put my game face on, turning around and sitting back down. "I have this assignment for English. It's like this autobiographical essay on our childhood and how we grew up."

"When's it due?"

"Friday."

"How long does it have to be?" Sipping from his water, he peered at me curiously, the blue of his eyes so bright and open my breath caught in my throat for a moment.

"Minimum 4 pages, max 6." I shoved a forkful of rice into my mouth.

"Single or-"

I nodded. "Single spaced."

"What're you having trouble with?"

"Oh, you know, I'm getting a bunch of dates mixed up and my memory is a little foggy." I paused, watching Matt get up to flip the tortillas. "It's been such a long time."

"Are you really going to try to fit your entire childhood into this essay? Sounds like a lot of work, Sam."

"Yeah…I mean, I want the full grade. And this whole thing is just telling me I need to brush up on my past." I flinched into my mug, wondering if I was layering on the lie too thick.

"Well, you're not known for having the best memory." Matt chuckled, grabbing the tortillas, stacking them and then placing them under a cloth on the table between us, to keep them warm. "Do you want me to fill in the blanks?" He turned off the stove and sat down, digging into his food.

"Yeah, yeah. Not sure how to start, first of all. I don't even know what's my earliest memory. I mean— who does?"

"Yours was of your mom. When you were like three, I think. You mentioned something about the rain and hot chocolate."

"Um...?" I stopped mid-chew, staring at Matt with blatant surprise. "You, uh…you remember that?"

"Of course I do. I remember almost everything you tell me."

"Okay, fair enough." Jabbing at the beans on my plate absently, I pretended to be deep in thought. "Maybe this would be quicker if you just give me a summary of what I've told you. Rather than me having to go over what I remember and you trying to fill in the blanks."

I was smiling, but inside there was this sudden fear of being too transparent. It felt oddly as if this were a test, one I was about to fail.

"Sure. Let me think for a second." He slowed down his eating, tearing up pieces of tortilla and using it to scoop rice and beans into his mouth. "Actually, can I finish eating first?"

"Yeah. I'll start cleaning up."

Thirty minutes later, the dishes were clean, and the leftovers put in containers. Once everything was wiped down and back in its place, Matt lounged on the living room couch, groaning from how full he was. Notebook and pencil in hand, I sat on a chair beside him and tried to act casual and not too impatient.

"Alright." He hummed, interlacing his fingers over his stomach. "Sorry in advance if this is all over the place. I may have a better memory than you, but that doesn't mean I'm good at repeating it."

I cracked a smile, leaning against the arm rest of the chair. "You're doing me a favor. Just go for it."

Matt thought for a moment before speaking, lips pursed. "I'll start with your first memory. Again—you were three, I think. You were with your mom and it was raining. She was making you both hot chocolate, and your hands were cold. You just remembered the sound of the rain and the heat from the mug.

"Ah, moving past that. You were raised by your mom in California. She'd come out here to visit her sister—before she left—along with Bonnie, Sheila, and Rudy, because you're family, obviously. When you were six, your mom got sick. Her heart was weak. Sheila went and stayed with the both of you, until…until she passed away a few weeks later. Sheila got custody of you, because of your mom's will, and brought you over here to live with her. Once she noticed how close you and Bonnie were, and how you two started to depend on each other, she asked Rudy to let you move in. It worked out well, especially since a little while after he started to leave for long periods of time for work. So, it was just you and Bonnie. You two were attached at the hip, I swear." Matt laughed. "You met Caroline and Elena because of Bonnie. Tyler and I were later on, in school. You, uh, you started talking to me because you said you liked my smile. You had this, like, mission to befriend everyone who had a nice smile. You said I was the first person to fit the bill."

The paper was still blank, pencil hovering just centimeters away. "I was a weird kid, huh?" The words spilled from my lips easily, my eyes meeting his with amusement. "With a good eye, though. You still do have a lovely smile."

The light in the room was lessening, shadows moving across the walls in a slow crawl. It darkened half of Matt's face, yet his teeth were still visible, expression almost smug. "Do you remember—you made me a PB&J because of it. I think back then, you could somehow tell I was having it rough. So, we became friends. I'd do my best to smile more, and you'd bring me food."

"A fair trade, don't you think?" It frightened me, the ease in which I spoke without meaning to. It didn't feel like me—hell, I don't think it _was_ me at all—yet, despite that disconnect, it was natural.

"Definitely. You made me look forward to school every day. Smiling was the least I could do."

Choking up, I hid a grin behind my hand. "You're a sap."

"Says the one who cried at my first football game."

I stuck my tongue out, pouting. Arms crossing over my chest, I managed to break the spell, "Continue."

Keeping my composure was difficult. I couldn't change my demeaner too much, or else it'd seem like I was having mood swings, and the last thing I needed was Matt thinking I was weirder than I already was. I had to just roll with however the hell my body reacted.

"Pretty much from then on it's just all of us growing up together. Do you want specifics, or…?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. Everything helps."

"Well, alright, we're gonna be here a while." Laughing, Matt laid down on the couch, hands folded neatly on his stomach, pillow behind his head.

"So…let's see. Oh! I remember—okay, so there was this fair at school once…"

Settling deeper into the chair, my grip on the pencil unnecessarily tight, I began to write.

* * *

Steam clouded the bathroom, water practically scalding. My hands were flat against the tile, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut—but I didn't need to look to know my skin was red and irritated, hair plastered to my scalp, shoulders and neck. I was still processing everything Matt had told me, the sound of his voice insistent in the back of my mind. And despite my clear denial, despite my suspicion of him, I still nodded and smiled and dragged myself over here to think.

What he told me—it wasn't really the information I had been expecting. I thought I would get something concrete, something which tied into the real world or gave me a clue as to what to do or…or… _something_ that wasn't what I got. But maybe regardless of what Matt said, I'd still be standing here, feeling tired, tired, and _more_ tired.

"Fuck me." I shuddered out, voice obscured by the water. "Just my _luck_."

Stepping away from of the spray from the shower head, I sagged against the far wall, trembling for a moment as my skin tingled from the heat. There was a lot to think about, a lot that needed solving, but clearly something had to be done differently. Hearing my past retold to me—it didn't do much other than trigger those…weird reactions and further convince me that whatever was going on wasn't as simple as a "nightmare."

Hurrying up my shower as to not worry Matt, I wrapped myself in a towel and pulled the curtain aside. The mirror was fogged up, condensation coating the bathroom walls, counter and floor. As I leaned my weight onto the foot outside of the tub and raised the other to step fully out, something made a loud _bang_ behind me. In my haste to turn around, I unceremoniously slipped. I caught a glimpse of the shampoo bottle I used laying in the tub right before I hit the wall next to me, falling too quickly for me to grab onto anything or even protect my face or head.

There was a moment of silence right before my thigh met the floor, followed swiftly by my arm, shoulder, and then forehead. The sound my body made slamming into the floor scared me more than the fall itself, until a sharp sting gripped my head painfully enough that a hiss escaped my lips. I rolled onto my side, towel somehow still around me, and pressed my hand against the newly tender spot on my face.

Laying there, with the awkward view of the bottom of the toilet and trashcan, it hit me—

Right before my vision darkened, memories flooded my head so quickly I lost my breath. Everything tunneled black for a split second…and then I could _see_.

My mom—my actual _mom_ —helping me pack for our summer vacation to cousin Bonnie's house. Grams teaching me how to cook. Bonnie teaching me how to ride a bike. Having my knees scraped up and legs bruised. Crying when my pet turtle died. Some were snapshots, and others lingered for a few moments. But then—my mom passing away.

Confusion, confusion, Grams was there. I was crying and begging and kicking and screaming and _where was my mom, where did she go? She promised she would take me out for a walk and and and_ —

The Virginia heat did nothing to make my chest feel any warmer. Grams couldn't do much, either. But Bonnie, _Bonnie_ —she held my hand and let me cry and told me her mom left her too. _It was different_ , she said. But it didn't matter. It hurt all the same.

Sleeping over, Bonnie sneaking in cookies and milk. Reading books together, coloring, seeing who could count the most stars. Moving in, decorating my room, befriending Caroline and Elena. Starting school, meeting Matt, liking his smile. It was gentle, sweet and made my chest thaw a little.

In another rush—Caroline painting my nails, Elena buying me a teddy bear for my birthday, punching Tyler in the face, letting Jeremy draw on me with a pen, trying on Vicki's clothes, teaching Matt how to cook, falling asleep in Bonnie's lap, Grams making me tea at one in the morning.

I gasped—a choked, pitiful sound. My vision went white, and I think I was crying. My shoulders were shaking so hard I couldn't seem to stop—and then there was Matt. I hadn't even heard the door open, hadn't even noticed that the loud _thump thump thump_ was him banging on the door and not just my erratic heartbeat. He was warm and gentle and pulling me into a hug. But this only brought on another onslaught of tears, only made it harder to breathe. Because this had happened before, _this had happened before—_

And then finally—we were teenagers. Caroline took me shopping, Elena put makeup on me, Tyler and I gagged over the taste of beer, Jeremy and I discussed tattoos, I caught Vicki smoking a cigarette, Matt and I started working out together, Bonnie told me she liked a boy from school, Grams taught me how to take care of her garden.

I could _see_ everything— _feel_ everything. My heart was beating so fast I thought it might just shatter my ribs and fall onto the floor. For a moment I thought it did. But it was just air finally clawing its way down my throat, the burning in my chest distracting me from my thoughts which couldn't seem to _shut the fuck up_.

I stopped crying— _thank god, I really needed to stop doing that_ —and instead had my face buried in Matt's chest, shirt fisted in my hands, encircled in his arms.

I wasn't crying anymore, and that was the first step, right? Maybe…maybe. I don't know. My body hurt from the fall. I felt so tired and annoyed at myself for something I couldn't even figure out, and I had lost my composure, _once again_. Matt probably thought I lost my mind. It's not like he was far off the mark, anyway.

"I'm sorry." I managed to grit out, suddenly aware that this entire situation had escalated more than it needed to, the bathroom door probably broken and Matt more worried than necessary.

"What're you apologizing for? Are you okay?" At my nod, he patted my back, trying to calm my tremors. "Don't worry, I got you." And with a tenderness I wouldn't have imagined him capable of, he rocked us back and forth, back and forth, until my quivering ceased, and my breathing was normal. The pain became a dull ache and goosebumps littered my skin; the towel offered me no warmth.

And once I was okay, once I stuttered out another apology and reassured Matt I was _really_ fine, and it was just the shock of falling which made me react that way—him still not looking convinced but helping me stand—he guided me to my room and let me get dressed. The sun had started to set off in the distance, the shadows on the walls growing longer and longer as colors lost their spark. All the while, I weakly tried to put on clothes.

My wet hair stuck to my shirt and neck, the entire right side of my body throbbed, and everything felt woozy. The memories though—those were as clear as day. And what worried me more was that hitting my head had nothing to do with it. It was the laying on the bathroom floor that caused it.

Slumping down to the ground, at a weird angle, the shock finally wore off and I was too aware, too awake. I closed my eyes and hoped I could fall asleep. Only peace could be brought to me from that sweet oblivion. I stayed that way, until I finally dozed off, fragmented memories swimming in my head like a drug.

* * *

 **end author's note:** _(1) comal- a smooth, flat griddle typically used in Mexico, Central and parts of South America to cook tortilla, arepas, toast spices and nuts, sear meat, and generally prepare food._


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing which came to mind upon startling awake was— _what time is it_? There were no bright red numbers to help and no indication of where I was, either. It was dark, quiet, and a thin blanket had been draped over me. I rose, wincing when the cracking of my bones seemed to shatter the silence. In a sitting position, the room came into focus; the mess made earlier still cluttered the floor in dark heaps—everywhere except for a spot by the wall, a spot I remembered falling asleep in. Fumbling in the dark, the alarm clock was very much on the nightstand, but it faced the opposite direction, displaying the numbers 10:16 almost angrily.

It was then that a soft—so soft I hadn't even noticed it initially—snore caught my attention. Off to the side, I could barely make out the outline of someone laying down on the floor among the piles of clothing. If it wasn't for the gleam of short blonde hair, I would've panicked.

"Matt?" I croaked, immediately regretting having spoken. My throat was dry and voice only a broken whisper.

The hardwood was cold beneath my bare feet, and it took a lot of care not to confuse Matt with a t-shirt or some jeans. Moving proved to be difficult, my muscles stiff from the fall. Part of me wanted to wake up Matt and ask him what happened while I was out, why he was still here—but another didn't and instead wanted to get some breathing room. My legs decided for me.

The kitchen light was warm, not too vibrant, and soon the smell of sweet tangerine tea perfumed the air. The weight of what I had been told, learned, fucking _seen_ —it kept replaying in my mind over and over again, as I absently watched the swirl of steam rising from the mug. And…I knew, deep down, that it was either acceptance or being stuck in the same rut. I knew because there was no other explanation. This—this— _this_ …was real.

My knees shook, heavy and pained, desperate for the relief which denial brought. With acceptance, came the possibility of never returning home, of home never having been _real_. With acceptance came… _living_ in this fictitious-suddenly-turned-real universe, with vampires and werewolves and hybrids and witches and a whole other lot of supernatural beings I couldn't care to name. This could become my _reality_.

The tea scorched my throat, burning my tongue and making my eyes squeeze shut from the pain of it. But I kept drinking until the mug was empty and clattered against the smooth counter top—until hot tea was dribbling down my chin and onto my shirt. The pain eased the momentary shudder of tears, kept my eyes dry and helped me breathe. I couldn't be weak, not at a time like this.

Maybe, just _maybe_ , this wasn't real. Maybe I was in a coma, having vivid dreams. Maybe I took too many hits from a joint, and was tripping balls at a friend's house. Maybe. There was always a possibility. I couldn't deny that, at least. But those maybes were nothing compared to the _maybe_ of this being real; maybe I was _actually here_ , could actually touch and feel and influence my surroundings. Maybe Matt sleeping in the room was actually happening, and I lived with Bonnie and was related to her, and Caroline and Elena were my best friends, and my mom died when I was six— _maybe_.

There were a lot of things I couldn't explain (basically _everything_ ), but I had to take it one step at a time. I had to keep control over my emotions because if I didn't, then I'd lose. I don't know what specifically, but I'd lose _something_. I had to—no, _needed_ to—keep a grip and be aware, because there was still a part of me, one that took control when I had none, one that apparently lived here her entire life. I couldn't let her rule me, because I was _not_ her. And she wasn't me.

As I thought this, I could feel _her_ stir. She was there, waiting, watching. Doing her own thing while I did mine. She wondered if Bonnie had gotten home safely and if Matt was cold. She was craving a milkshake but didn't want to make noise. She was…unaware of me. I could hear what she was thinking, feel her emotions, but she never once thought of me. It was like I wasn't even there, yet when she tried to move from the kitchen and back into the dark recluse of her room, intending to give Matt a blanket, my feet stayed rooted. She didn't question why, or how, or even seem phased. Her concern only grew; she just became impatient.

It was Sunday night. Tomorrow there was school. Matt had mentioned it, at one point. He'd said something about practice starting again soon for football season. He had asked me about Cross Country, and all I could muster was a, "yeah, I'm excited," despite being everything but. I ran Cross for two years—my junior and senior year of high school. I loved it, fucking adored it, but it upset me to have Matt mention it, here, in this world. It made things feel too…real, for a moment. Only so many coincidences could happen before I just couldn't process them anymore.

I had added it to a mental list of bullshit to consider at a later point in time. Right now, I had to focus on the fact that I was sixteen, still in high school, had no idea what my routine was, where my classes were, or even what time I woke up for class. I wasn't sure how to figure it out either, because asking someone would make it seem like I officially lost it. Weary sigh on my lips, the mug was suddenly in the sink and I headed to the room—the thought, "gotta wake up Matt," ringing in my ears, as if spoken aloud. I recognized it almost immediately. It was _her_. There wasn't any other name I could think of besides Sam 2.0 or Alt Sam, and neither seemed convenient, so I just stuck to the pronoun game.

I hadn't even realized she had taken control, right under my nose. As my hand settled on Matt's shoulder, gently rousing him from his sleep, I made a connection. Losing any bit of stability gave her an opening to come and take over. Stress, worry, any vulnerability made me susceptible to her taking command.

"Hey, come on. You gotta get up." I— _she_ —whispered, smiling at Matt's groan of protest.

It wasn't that hard to pull back the reins, though. So, as Matt stood, swaying groggily, hand rubbing his face, I dropped the smile and picked up a blanket from the floor. "Here," I said, without really knowing why. I guess I just wanted to make sure it was really me now, that I could say and do what I pleased.

Matt hummed in thanks, wrapping it around his shoulders, looking so young I couldn't help but think of a puppy. I wasn't quite sure what to do. I hadn't planned on waking him up.

"…time is it?" He mumbled, fumbling for his phone in the pocket of his sweats.

"Almost 11."

He let out a long whistle. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was watching over you."

I snorted, "That must've been interesting."

"I was worried."

"About?"

"You hit your head on the _floor_ , Sam. I didn't think you'd stop crying."

"It was just the—"

"Shock. Yeah, you told me," Matt's tone indicated he didn't believe me.

"I-I'm sorry. Really. That," I waved a hand uselessly around me, "was unnecessary. I just slipped and fell, and I was scared, you know. In shock," Matt's lips pulled into a line.

"And being sick makes me emotional," I finished lamely, shrugging, as if that would make this situation any better.

Sighing, Matt scrubbed at his face, the weariness forming lines on his forehead. "Alright. I trust that was all there was. Maybe I shouldn't have overreacted." He pulled the blanket tighter around himself then, and said, almost sheepishly, "Sorry about the door."

"Does Bonnie…"

"Know? Of course she does. I promised her I'd come in sometime this week to fix it."

"Ah."

"She wasn't upset. She was worried about you, too. We thought maybe…maybe you had hit your head a little too hard. I wanted to make sure you were alright, and that nothing happened while you were sleeping."

"Aren't you supposed to not let me sleep at all?"

"Well, when you weren't answering my knocking or questions, I came in, remember? Woke you up. And you kept mumbling threats and flailing, so I let you rest. Figured I'd keep watch on you, just in case."

"With your eyes closed?" I teased.

Baby blues rolled heavenward, but his smile gave him away. "You're terrible."

" _Whatever_."

"I should be getting home. Got school tomorrow and your floor is a bit too hard for me." His lips quirked at the edges, teeth shining in the darkness.

"Sorry." Was all I could seem to say. And then, after a pause— "Thank you."

"Anytime."

He started heading for the door, his walk still heavy with sleep, and she—Sam 2.0, or Alt, or whatever the fuck—wanted him to stay. _It's late,_ she thought. _Sleep here_.

"No." I said, realizing too late that the words were spoken aloud. Matt turned around, blanket folded in his arms, eyebrow raised. Well, _shit_. "You wanna…stay?"

The question hung between us, not uneasily, but almost shyly. My awkwardness didn't help, and neither did his smile, all boyish charm and innocence.

"I'd like that."

I let Alt Sam guide me then, her direction proving to be kind of helpful. I got Matt situated in what I believed to be Bonnie's dad's bedroom; it seemed hardly used. A few of Matt's clothes were even in the drawers—something I noticed when he plucked out a shirt and pants to sleep in.

Closing the door after saying goodnight, I walked down the small hallway to the room I woke up in. The floor was, not surprisingly, still riddled with clothes, and I whined because I was going to have to pick it all up unless I wanted to be even more confused in the morning. At least it would give me something to do, seeing as it wasn't that late, and I had slept a good portion of the day away. Kneeling, I started gathering heaps of everything and setting it on the bed, preparing myself for the long day awaiting me.

Slamming a hand down on the alarm clock that rang obnoxiously at 6:00 sharp, I realized I apparently liked to put on music to get my senses up and alert. My outfit for today had been picked out last night—I had been surprised (although at this point I really shouldn't be) at how similar it was to my own tastes. There were lots of blacks and dark colors, with the occasional splash of white. It mimicked what I had at home in California, and it pleased me that the Sam in this world at least kept it real. Black was _everything_.

Something else I noted was the quality of the clothing. It was…well it was _nice_. Not that I never had nice clothing, but most of my shirts had been bought at thrift stores or from clearance racks. My jeans were brand name, and so were my shoes (curtesy of my dad), but they were over two year old; I'd been so busy my senior year of high school, I never seemed to find time for shopping. What I was trying to say was—I'd had a healthy mix of cheap and full price clothes that were all fairly worn but still did their job. Here, my wardrobe looked crisp, new—and _definitely_ not cheap.

My shirt, black and tight and slightly cropped, was soft, wispy, and _very_ comfortable. My jeans, a midnight blue, hugged me lovingly, and seemed brand new. The boots I had on were something I'd been wanting for years—all hard leather and a nice, solid weight. They _thunked_ whenever I walked, much to my amusement. A silver bracelet nestled against my left wrist, shiny and sleek with green emeralds (at least, I think they were emeralds; I didn't know if they were fake or not, but it was beautiful) embedded in the center. Bonnie and her dad (and I suppose myself as well) were well off. I wasn't used to such luxury, but I couldn't say I didn't like it. I've never had my own room, lived in a house—the list goes on. But hey, I might as well enjoy it, right?

Alt Sam guided me to the kitchen, hands busying themselves with the preparation of breakfast. My mind wandered. Eyes drifted to the window, and I sighed at how beautiful the sky looked, smeared in different shades of blue. It was such a soft, almost silky…

"Morning." Matt chirped from behind me.

Since Alt Sam was in control, I didn't freak out like I normally would've, and instead let her do all the talking.

"Mornin'," she nodded, turning her head.

He was already dressed in a dark long sleeve and pair of faded jeans, hair combed back and smile on his lips. "Found clean clothes, luckily. What're you making?"

"Eggs, bacon—"

"And pancakes, I hope."

This time I did freeze, but it was just for a fraction of a second, a quick and unsteady beat of my heart, before Alt Sam continued her movement.

"Of course. How could I forget?" Alt Sam laughed, beginning to rummage through the fridge for what was needed, body relaxed when my mind was not.

"Good. I would've had to call in a complaint, otherwise," Bonnie bumped my shoulder with hers, taking over the eggs and the bacon, a familiar silver bracelet glittering on her wrist.

"We wouldn't want that now, would we? Complaints are bad for my reputation," Alt Sam replied smoothly. I noticed the gems on her bracelet were brown, and not green, like mine—the only difference between the two. "Matt, can you help with the smoothie? I was gonna make the one from last time, remember? You know where everything is."

"You got it, boss," He was suddenly beside me now that it was his turn to raid the fridge. Meanwhile, I was swept up in the fact that I was in the middle of two fic—people…two people. Bonnie and Matt. We were all making breakfast, like it was just another day in the life of us.

Alt Sam had full control at this point, my head swimming too much to really focus, and before I knew it, breakfast was done and we were all eating away, enjoying our meal.

Bonnie—I hadn't seen her up close in person before, and I found it extremely difficult not to stare. Her eyes were averted on her food, knife and fork digging, but when she looked up—first at Matt, who was making small talk, and then at me—I found myself rooted to the chair. She had the loveliest green orbs I'd ever seen, a playful smirk that always seemed to dance on her lips, and smooth black hair with slight waves at the ends. A shaky smile was plastered on my face, trying not to think too hard.

Soon, we all piled into Bonnie's car—a baby blue Prius that I never remembered her having—and we were on our way to Matt's house to grab his backpack and anything else he might need for school. It didn't take him long, but it was enough for me to scan the place from top to bottom. It looked to be fairly big and long, with an almost soft, olive colored roof and lots of greenery. Besides the fact that the paint was peeling a little, it looked well taken care of. Matt shambled on out soon after, and we were on our way. Sitting in the passenger seat with Bonnie fiddling with the radio and Matt on his phone, I realized that—that this was the first time I had ever really seen Mystic Falls since showing up.

It was like my senses, or rather, reactions and thoughts, were dulled. I felt surprise at seeing the town for the first time, of seeing the streets filled with people going about their day. I had never viewed it this way, from the perspective of someone's (my?) eyes, and not just what a camera crew wanted me to see. I felt wonder, too, when we pulled up to Mystic Falls High School, and I realized I'd never really paid attention to it, before. Stepping out of the car, I was, well, _amazed_. Except, the feeling was muted, not intense. I could compare my reaction to that of someone showing me a picture from their summer vacation—mild interest and a lingering feeling of curiosity.

I brushed it off as Alt Sam's doing, though. She was in control and had probably seen these things every day since she moved here. The only thing she seemed to take the time to register was _who_ was around. She was looking for someone.

We entered the school, and it was like any other high school. Only thing is, I had already gotten used to the flow of college. This was going to be anything _but_ fun.

"…first shift. If you aren't busy and wouldn't mind, of course," Matt's voice cut through Alt Sam's thoughts, who immediately recognized the conversation topic despite not having listened in at all. _Matt's first shift at The Grill,_ she thought _, he wants some people to be there for support._

"I'll order us some onion rings," she smiled at Bonnie, wiggling her eyebrows temptingly.

"I have cheer practice after school. Caroline would kill me if I cheated on my diet."

"Who said Caroline has to know?" Matt chimed in, grinning.

"It's _Caroline_. She can probably sense that I'm considering even eating them right now."

"Come on," Alt Sam sighed, rolling her eyes. "We can split 'em and then order a salad or something." Bonnie looked like she was about to protest, so she cut her off— "And we'll drink _lots_ of water."

She groaned, forehead thudding against her locker. " _Fine_. I'll go. You two are awful influences," she muttered, glaring at us half-heartedly.

"And you love it," Alt Sam laughed, smile widening at Bonnie's huff.

The bell rang then, loud and shrill, and I complained internally. I had forgotten bells existed, already missing college. The knot of anxiety settling deep in my stomach didn't help, either, which only grew at Bonnie's, "Good luck on your test for Chem!"

Alt Sam nodded, waving briefly as the flood of rushing students swept her away, almost separating her from Matt.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, before being pushed into the background of my— _our_ —mind. "Did you study?" she asked, maneuvering through the mass of bodies with practiced ease.

"Yes, Sam."

"How long?"

"A few hours."

"All in one sitting or…?"

" _Sam_."

She grinned, nudging Matt's shoulder with hers as they entered the classroom, all the while I watched, silent.

I needed a name for Alt Sam. For some fucking reason calling her that was, one, weird, two, not okay-sounding, and, three, a bit of a hassle. A small part of me also felt—knowing she was her own separate entity with thoughts and emotions and maybe even a soul (what the hell did _I_ know)—that it was inhumane. She needed her own name, and it couldn't be Sam because that was just a confusing mess which hinged on me having an identity crisis. So, this is how I ended up on Google, trying to find an allusion or character or general name I could use that made sense. It's _also_ how I ended up in trouble for using my phone during class, but that's not as important.

During my hunt for twin names that went well with Sam, fumbling rather messily when the teacher passed by my desk to hide my phone, I clicked on a random link that took me to a suspicious, multiple-tab-opening website. Pencil in one hand, eyes pretending to take in the information on the board, my thumb frantically tapped the screen, aiming to exit out of the pages that screamed virus. Glancing down toward my phone at the feel of it vibrating in that telltale _you won't be able to exit this page, you shit_ way, I caught a glimpse of the name _Sara_ before it blinked out of sight. It seemed to me it was almost done on purpose—almost a sign from above that it was destiny that wanted my alternate self to be named Sara—until I saw the _very_ graphic porn displayed on my screen. I had to bite my bottom lip hard to keep from laughing. I mean, a pornstar's name is as good as any, right?

After class, when the bell rang for nutrition, I shuffled out of second period, confused and finally letting… _Sara_ guide me. She had no trouble finding the cafeteria or entering her ID (which I made note of) to grab some breakfast. I found myself walking outside, warm sun heating my skin, and spotted a table under a tree that had Bonnie, Matt, and…Caroline.

Slinking back into the recesses of my mind, Sara took charge with no fault in her step. She approached the table with confidence, setting her tray down and giving Caroline a blinding smile.

"Hey, Sam. How're you feeling?" Caroline asked, leaning forward with a pinch in her brow.

Golden waves spilled over her shoulders in delicate twists at her movement, her blue—oh god her _blue, blue, blue_ —eyes even more expressive than Matt's. "I'm doing just fine. Much better, with Matt's fussing and Bonnie's not-so-subtle chore uptake," Sara grinned while I continued to stare dumbly at Caroline; her eyes seemed to somehow get even bluerwith her laughter, if that was even possible.

"If I remember correctly, _you're_ the one who asked me to spend the night," Matt flicked a piece of plastic at Sara, and she watched in amusement as the wind blew it right back.

"Spend the night? Is that why you didn't show up at my house today?"

The sudden snap of a plastic straw between my fingers drew everyone's eyes for a moment, Sara in control be damned, and she offered a surprised look in exchange.

Bonnie was the first to speak. "Hey 'Lena."

"Hey, Bon," Elena shifted her bag off her shoulder, getting herself settled between Bonnie and me.

"Sorry about that," Matt rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Stayed the night at Sam and Bon's, completely forgot to tell you."

Elena's answering smile was soft, and I was struck by how beautiful she was. Her classic long brown locks, doe eyes—she looked so innocent, much like Matt did when I first met him. All of them, they looked so young, so untouched. I can't remember a time in the show when they all sat down like this and just enjoyed their break from class: Matt and Elena holding hands across the table, Bonnie waving at someone walking by, Caroline sipping at her water and twirling a fork between her fingers.

And throughout this, Sara kept me calm. Although my mind was still racing on its own, thoughts and questions practically tripping over one another, she didn't bat an eye. Instead, she spoke with Caroline about a school event, invited her out to go to the Grill after cheer practice and coaxed her into sharing onion rings with her and Bonnie by promising to help her out with a routine. Sara was all smiles and laughter and when the bell rang, she stood with the others, gathering her things. I can't ignore, either, how whole I felt. Surrounded by the warmth of these people, surrounded by the utter preciousness of their obvious affection—it made me ache with the loss of those I didn't have in this world.

I didn't have my mom, my step-dad, dad, my brother, my nephew, my girlfriend or friends. No one to turn to—or so I had thought. It wasn't the same thing, not at all, but watching Matt sling an arm around Elena's shoulders as he gave Bonnie a playful wink in response to something she said, and having Caroline wrap a hand around my bicep and sway into me as we began walking—it was _something_.

I held onto that.

Days passed, the same routine, classes, and people blurring by. Sara was in charge most of the time while I observed, and observed, and observed so much until I realized I retained unnecessary amounts of information. My schedule wasn't hard to follow—weekdays I had school, waking up two hours beforehand to get ready, make breakfast, and have enough time to spare to go cruising for a bit through the town. After class, I sat on the bleachers and watched Bonnie, Caroline, and Elena practice their routines with the team. Matt joined me most of the time, and we'd alternate between doing homework and chatting absentmindedly. After practice was over, Bonnie and I'd go home, and I'd make dinner for us while she showered and changed. She'd clean up and then it was my turn to put on comfy clothes. From then on, we'd do homework together, watch tv, whatever we felt like until it was late and we headed to bed.

It was suddenly Saturday again. An entire week had passed after having woken up here, and while I was trying my hardest to cope and adjust, it didn't decrease that itch to find out the reason why I was here in the first place.

Caroline had demanded on Wednesday after cheer practice that they go out as previously planned on Saturday, her face flushed and loose strands of hair sticking to her cheeks. I was too busy staring to answer, but Sara did, enthusiastically.

A goal I set for myself was to learn as much as I could in order to stop relying on her, because there was something that unsettled me about tucking myself in the back of my mind, watching someone else control my body and speak in my voice. I felt like the longer I let her take the reins, the harder it would be to pull myself to the forefront. Call it paranoia, but either way nothing would be accomplished regardless by just sitting back and having Sara do everything.

The engine of Bonnie's car turned off, and we stepped out, her fumbling with her keys and I trying not to fidget or gawk at Elena's house. Caroline strolled past me, which I took as a cue to stop lingering on the sidewalk.

The house was bigger than I remembered, walkway seeming to stretch ridiculously far. By the time we reached the front steps and porch, my palms were sweaty and knees unsteady. Bonnie unceremoniously knocked. Caroline fixed her hair. And I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door opened quicker than anticipated.

"Hey, Mrs. Gilbert," Bonnie said, and the whole world seemed to tip on its axis.

"Hi Bonnie, Caroline, Sam. Come in. Elena's in the kitchen. I'll go get her," Miranda Gilbert opened the door wide, granting us entry, and like the coward I was, I immediately slithered back, making myself small and practically pushing Sara into control.

Miranda made her way deeper into the house, pass the set of stairs and into what I assumed to be the kitchen. Elena soon popped her head around the corner, smiling.

"Hey guys. You have everything?" She bit into an apple, other hand holding her phone.

"Yes ma'am," Sara grinned, raising the bag I had forgotten I was holding until then.

"Great!' Elena made her way over to us. "Then let's head to my room."

"We're gonna need some spoons for the ice cream," Bonnie shifted the bag she was holding. "And some sprinkles would be nice."

"Go ahead. I'll be there in a sec," she motioned for us to go upstairs.

With Sara's guidance, I instead went into the restroom, handing my bag to Caroline. Once the door was closed and locked, I let myself slide down against it, a hitch in my breathing. The urge to cry was so overwhelming then with Sara lurking in the background as always, unfazed. My vision blurred, and I had to press my hands against the cool tile to keep them from shaking. This was all on me. I had to get a grip without Sara's help. She was useful in times of surprise, like this, or when I encountered something or someone I didn't know, but other than that, I needed to be in charge. And crying wasn't a viable option.

"Oh—Dad. Mom asked if you could bring down her purse. Said she needed a business card or something," Elena spoke suddenly, and it felt as if she was right in front of the bathroom door.

"Sure thing," This voice was different, and it didn't take any wild guesses to know it was Elena's dad—Grayson.

Rubbing the palms of my hands across my eyes, I practiced my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

My legs were wobbly when I tried to stand, and one look in the mirror eased my nerves. Just a bit of ruffled hair at the back and wet lashes—besides that, I looked as if nothing happened.

Turning the facet on, I shakily sighed.

Elena's parents were still alive.


	4. Chapter 4

Elena's parents were still alive—and that was how I knew I was _far_ in the past, timeline wise. This was before the show even technically started, before things started to go downhill in Mystic Falls, and I had no idea what to do with myself.

With this new revelation came a flood of questions, which only piled on high to those still left unanswered. Was this a clue as to why I showed up here? Was there something that needed to be done? Was…was I supposed to prevent their deaths—prevent things from happening? Fuck, what would even happen if I _did_ change something? What if it only got me stuck here with an even worse mess than before? _Ugh_.

The dull throbbing in my temples escalated to a sharp ache. Having a meltdown here, in Elena's room, really wouldn't help anything. The stupid stability of having friends and people who cared meant nothing now—now that everything was up in the air and these people's lives depended on a fucking stranger.

The old fondness I had for Elena's character pooled in my chest, slowly spreading. I knew what she would become—what they would _all_ become. Elena would lose sight of those around her and become infatuated with her mantra of, "me, me me;" Bonnie would become the sacrificial lamb and be abandoned time after time; Caroline would never feel good enough and would let others use her.

As stupid as it felt thinking this—maybe that was what I was supposed to do. Change their destinies and alter the future. Or something like that, to a degree. And maybe, just _maybe_ , I could go back home.

It was ridiculous to think so. To think _this_ was why something out there went through the trouble of dragging my ass here and fitting me into this fictional world without so much as an explanation. Because it was the writers in reality who wrote the story. The characters weren't real; they didn't exist.

Elena was on her bed, laying on her stomach, chewing on the end of a pen. A colorful array of construction paper littered her comforter. Sensing my eyes, she glanced up and smiled, one I returned instinctively, watching as she peered back down.

She was real. This person in front of me was real. She was alive like me. She was alive.

Bonnie, sprawled on the floor, with a tub of half-eaten ice cream by her arm and bag of sprinkles practically spilling over—she was alive.

Caroline, against the wall, lollipop in her mouth and a ring of books, pens, and highlighters surrounding her—she was alive.

And me, by the window, legs crossed, eyebrows pinched, with a pencil in my hand and one single sheet of blank paper—I was alive.

I…I couldn't just stand by and watch these people be blind to things they could change. I couldn't. This week left me feeling more and more as if leaving and appearing back home wasn't an option, and while I certainly didn't want to fuck with the future, there were just some things I couldn't let happen. People didn't have to die; events could be avoided.

Pencil came down on paper, the clipboard Caroline had handed me, sturdy, and I wrote out what I remembered from the show.

* * *

There was only so much time.

I didn't remember much from the first season, but I wrote what I could scrounge up from the back of my mind.

-Elena's parents die

-Stefan saves Elena

-Damon meets Elena before car crash

-Stefan goes to Mystic Falls high school

-Caroline crushes on Stefan

-Elena starts liking Stefan

-Caroline starts dating Damon

-Damon uses Caroline

-Bonnie finds out she's a witch

I realized at this point that I could recall specific details from some episodes but had completely forgotten others. What I remembered was useless if there was no actual date for when it happened.

Caroline was scribbling down different cheer routines and somehow planning an upcoming dance for the freshmen at the same time. Bonnie was pretending to read her math textbook (she'd been staring at the same page for almost five minutes) and if the furious tapping of her fingers on her phone, half obscured by her arm and hair, were any indication, she was probably playing a game. Elena, who for some reason had three different pairs of scissors in one hand and glitter glue on her cheek, was making posters to advertise something for a club she was in. I was supposed to be helping Caroline with routines, but even if I wasn't trying to be some kind of bizarre hero, I'd probably still have an empty sheet of paper.

Sara, hovering in the background, felt completely at ease. There was no reaction to the words on the paper, not even to the ominous _I don't belong here. But you do. Who are you?_ I had written in a last-ditch effort to see if she responded.

With a few extra blank sheets of paper in a stack and within reach, the organization of things started. The first thing I could remember happening on the show were the deaths of Miranda and Grayson Gilbert. That night, it lead to Stefan and Damon becoming aware of Elena's existence and her parents dying. Elena and Matt broke up after that. Then, Stefan pretended to be a new student at Elena's high school while Damon killed locals. Which _then_ spiraled into Caroline crushing on Stefan, Bonnie having weird psychic moments, Matt being jealous, Damon swooping in and deciding to use Caroline as a plaything—and lots of other shit. If my memory served me right, Elena and Stefan slept together at one point after she accepted him for being a vampire, or whatever, and then she found out about Katherine.

 _Katherine_.

Jesus Christ, I almost forgot about Katherine. She popped into town for some reason, and then more shit hit the fan. Alaric was somehow a history teacher. There was something about a tomb, and Damon, and then Sheila—

Sheila died.

This was getting to be too much. Was this all in _just_ the first season? And when does the car accident even happen? _Why_ does it happen? And if I needed to stop this all from crumbling apart, maybe Elena's parents just have to _not_ die. And Elena has to be somewhere other than wherever the fuck she was when she called her parents to pick her up from that party in the woods—like that isn't cliché enough on its own. I'd have to keep her from leaving her house because Damon and Stefan might see her while on their whole visiting-Mystic-Falls thing. And if they never knew she existed, then everything would be _perfect_. No Salvatore brothers to deal with, no deaths, no crazy vampires—

Oh. Oh, wait. Katherine.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I repressed the urge to bang my head against the wall.

She showed up in Mystic Falls too, later on, but why? Did she already know about Elena being a doppelganger? If that's so, then what the hell would she—

Oh, for fucks sake. _For fucks sake._

I had completely and utterly forgotten about Klaus. Son of a—the _moonstone._

The fucking moonstone that Klaus needed to complete his transition into being a hybrid just so happened to be in Mystic Falls; Katherine came to give up Elena, so she could basically buy her freedom from him, and _that_ was why the Salvatore brothers being here was a good thing—because she'd die without them. But wait, she did die at one point. Klaus sacrificed her to complete his stupid transition, and she was revived, and Elijah—oh god _Elijah_ , the handsome bastard—betrayed them for Klaus.

So, if I did prevent Miranda and Grayson's deaths, and kept the Salvatores from knowing Elena existed, then she'd wind up being killed in the sacrifice to unleash Klaus' wolf side. Except, there was a way to revive her—and for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was.

On the chance that she could be saved, and the whole issue with the tomb and trapped vampires are avoided, then Elena would be fine. Klaus would complete his transition and—

The _crack_ of the clipboard breaking in half echoed in Elena's room, and three pairs of wide eyes focused on me.

"Oh," I said eloquently, forcing back a wince. "Sorry, Caroline."

The blonde continued to stare at the no-longer-intact wood, eyebrows hiked almost to her hairline. "It-It's fine." She tried to look reassuring but failed miserably. "You're just, uh… _stronger_ than I thought."

That pulled a muffled laugh from Bonnie, who kept her gaze now firmly locked on the book in front of her. At her shaking shoulders and blatant amusement, Elena's face broke out into a smile, still looking surprised, but no longer concerned. Caroline huffed a laugh too, rolling her eyes and muttering about routine planning not being _that_ intense. Ignoring the heat that'd been crawling up my face, my earlier annoyance returned.

Elena wouldn't be fine at all, because Klaus would need her blood in order to create more hybrids, and then she'd be reduced to a mere blood bag. And, even though I'm sure at some point Klaus stops being obsessed with creating hybrids and building an army of them, I didn't know why or how.

Looking at the small stack of paper, I knew it wouldn't be enough. I needed to really sit down and figure everything out, plot out the repercussions of anything I might do; there was no guarantee of fixing everything by just stopping Elena's parents from dying. She was tied to the supernatural whether she liked it or not, as was this town. And there _had_ to be some route I could take that warranted the least number of casualties.

* * *

Sunday mornings I went on a run with Matt.

Despite remaining fairly active in my past life, running out on the streets hadn't been something I'd done anymore—not after cross country and my injury senior year that left me more inclined toward treadmills. Yet, there was no difficulty at all. It was as if the running transition never happened, and the tenderness of my right ankle had been imagined.

Keeping up with Matt proved to be easier than previously thought—I actually passed him a few times, much to his amusement. He took it as a challenge. It left us breathless and drenched in sweat at the border of the town, legs so shaky we sat down on the side of the road in a heap of aching limbs.

I had stopped ignoring things about my physical appearance that were different than before, and tried to accept them, as unsettling as it could be at times. The first being my face. Seeing it free of acne and dark spots and little craters—and instead seeing smooth and even skin—felt unnatural. Bonnie answered that one for me, though. I had acne prone skin once I hit puberty, but Sheila helped ease it with home remedies and a good skin care routine. Eventually, it just…stopped. There was still the occasional blemish, a red bump here or there, but nothing compared to what my skin previously was. The roundness of my jaw and face were due to being 16 again, after just having turned 19 not too long ago. My hair was silkier because of another home remedy from Sheila—some oil I'd put in my hair and let sit, along with an herbal shampoo and conditioner. Surprisingly, the scar on the lower right of my stomach was still there—from my appendix surgery. But all my others were gone, or were replaced by some whose stories I didn't know.

But what I had been wondering for the past week, ever since the first time I showered, was true—this body was in better shape. What I had been working toward for two and a half years happened instantaneously and…it was off-putting, to say the least. I had (at some point in this universe) slimmed down and then bulked up, like I had been wanting to. There was some comfort to be found in that I still _looked_ like me, it just felt as if I had been fixed. Improved. Not to say I hadn't been working towards clearing my acne and getting stronger, but this was so sudden—there was no feeling of accomplishment, no gradual change. It was literally something done overnight.

I tried not to let it bother me more than it should.

* * *

More days passed by. I learned that if I ignored my homework and left it until late in the day, and then had Sara take over, she'd do it. With that, I managed to snag a few hours to myself to continue the ever-growing timeline of the show.

This meant lying to my friends, though. Making excuses as to why I couldn't stay to watch cheer practice and instead hauling ass to Bonnie's. It meant locking myself in my room and muttering to myself over various sheets of paper for hours on end, only coming out when Bonnie came home so I could make dinner.

It also meant having to ask around to see if there were any parties coming up, specifically in the woods. Which then lead to me discovering that despite being friends with the "popular girls and guys" at school, people seemed to generally avoid me. And let me tell you, this did _not_ help with the already out of place feeling I always seemed to carry with myself.

Not to mention I had no idea _why_. People would sometimes stare at me strangely, would only make brief conversation with me if I initiated it. Some pretended I wasn't there, and this one girl in my math class seemed intent on finding ways to tick me off. She would either shove past me without so much as an apology or step on my backpack on her way out of class. I was an outsider, and it upset me for reasons I couldn't even really name.

When Sara was in charge, though, she seemed to know her way around the people in her classes. There were only a handful of people she interacted with overall; one or two per class or none in others. Sara wasn't fazed by any of it, and in the rare times I let her take charge for longer than a few minutes at a time, I could feel in it the way she held herself. The confident tilt of her head, set of her shoulders. Some people would look at her, a few with judgement, others with coldness, both with some form of negativity—and she would walk past them uncaringly, happily, a smile on her face and a heaviness to her step that felt vaguely threatening.

I wasn't sure how to figure out the reason as to why, but I stored it away under "questions to be answered"—a list which was already too long for its own good.

Despite being an outcast, one of the girls in my math class who was always chewing gum but greeted me every day with a smile and a, "Heya, Sam," told me she overheard some people talking about planning a bonfire in a few weeks. With the promise that she'd keep me updated if she caught wind of anything else, I continued with the timeline.

* * *

Caroline confronted me on a Thursday, hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and eyes shining. I would've been happy at seeing her if she hadn't practically cornered me by the bleachers. Still, I knew not to let it show.

"Hey Sam," she chirped, hands on her hips. "Why have you been avoiding us?"

Whoa. Okay. Definitely wasn't expecting something so direct. I tried not to stutter in my reply.

"Avoiding?" I furrowed my brows in what I prayed looked like confusion. "What—?"

"Cut the crap, Bennett. I know you've been avoiding us and I want to know why."

Like a fish out of water, I gaped at the blonde for a few seconds. Both at the reminder of my last name and at her demand.

"Care…I don't know what you mean. I have a lot of work right now for my classes and I want to get it taken care of soon 'cause I've been meaning to get a part time job." The lie rolled smoothly off my tongue, having been rehearsed many times before in the mirror of my room.

She still didn't look convinced. "Well I don't buy it."

I sighed, adjusting my backpack on my shoulder.

"Look, I promise I'm not avoiding you guys. I've got a lot on my plate, and…I don't want to put any of it off."

Caroline frowned, but her expression softened.

"It's like I barely see you anymore. And like, avoid who you want, but, I'm not just anyone and this is totally _not_ cool."

"Yeah, I know. I know. And I'm sorry—" I cut off, unsure of what to say. What I was doing was in the best interest of everyone. I was trying to save this goddamn town and prevent people from unnecessarily _dying_ , but something about Caroline's expression pulled at my heartstrings, and any excuse I had suddenly feel flat.

"Actually, you know what? How's Saturday sound—you, me, lots of food we shouldn't be eating and The Notebook?"

The answering beam on her face was worth it. I could sacrifice one day. One day. I deserved it too, after having spent so many late nights pouring over my messy writing and trying to squeeze events out of my head. My back was already retaliating at me for it.

"Yes! Yes, okay, that sounds perfect. Let's do it at my house. I'll get the junk food and you get the dessert." She bounced a little in place, hopping from one foot to the next, and I laughed at her enthusiasm.

"Oh—I gotta go. The girls are getting distracted." She scowled at her team members, some of whom were definitely not stretching and instead talking amongst themselves. "I'll text you later, okay?"

"Sure." I watched her jog back to the field, perkier than before, and after a few seconds of staring dumbly after her, I turned around and headed home.

* * *

I had decided to prevent Elena's parents from dying.

It was a decision made after what felt like months of debating, making lists, and starting arguments with myself. In reality, it had only been a few weeks, at most. It was some time into May.

Choosing to save Miranda and Grayson Gilbert was anything but easy. There were so many repercussions, events which would change, things their presence would affect. Yet, I couldn't bear the thought of letting them die. If they had lived on…that risk was worth taking.

I would make sure Damon and Stefan knew of Elena's existence, no matter how reckless that felt, because this wasn't a game. It wasn't a "what if" scenario. These were real people, real parents, and if I could spare Elena and Jeremy that pain, then I would. Jenna wouldn't have to get roped into all of this, and I'm sure Stefan and Elena would find their way toward one another like before. And, even if they didn't, I wasn't here to match-make. People needed saving. It was such a simple concept, but one with difficult outcomes.

With Elena's parents alive and breathing, many things would be up in the air. This would be a complete and utter shift for the entire plot of the show. Who knew if Matt and Elena would still break up, or if Stefan would fight so fiercely for Elena if she's in a relationship? Who knew if this would make it difficult to protect Elena, Caroline, Bonnie, Matt—everyone? Who knew? But, just because things were unknown—that didn't mean I couldn't prepare for other major events.

Like the tomb and the moonstone.

The tomb was an easy one. I just had to convince Damon that Katherine wasn't inside (which, okay, doesn't sound easy, but was doable…maybe) and destroy any chance of the tomb being opened. For that, I'd have to talk with Sheila. She'd know more about this than I would. I would also need to get as much information out of Damon as I could, because he knew all about opening the tomb. I remembered something about a comet and a spell. The comet couldn't be prevented, but the spell could be. It had to be performed by a Bennett witch (which Bonnie and Sheila did together, and Sheila ended up dying because of it). My lack of knowledge on the spell itself and what else was needed wasn't comforting by any means, but Sheila was bound to know something. Once the tomb was taken care of, then I'd have to figure out where the hell the moonstone was. Without it, Klaus won't be able to perform the ritual. And as much as I like Klaus, there's a difference between a sexy murderous hybrid on screen and one up close with very little sympathy for human life—or rather, anyone that wasn't _him_. The ritual only brought more problems to a table already overflowing and creaking under the weight of previous ones. Preventing people we cared about from being involved in the sacrifice, faking Elena's death, running the risk of Klaus finding out she was alive once his attempts at creating hybrids failed, having him make the connection that he needed her blood to make said hybrids, dealing with his constant threat of possibly kidnapping her and reducing her to a mere blood bag…Not to mention Klaus' mother's involvement in this and her attempt at wiping out the entire vampire race.

Klaus, like Damon or Stefan or anyone really who has done terrible, terrible things, can change. It happened with Klaus in season 3, especially in his affections toward Caroline. It happened gradually, so much that I love the poor bastard, but there was too much risk involved. And if my purpose here was really to change the way the future played out, then I had to do what I had to do in order to return home.

* * *

The bonfire was in a few days.

After sneaking it into the conversation one day during lunch, only Matt and Elena seemed inclined to go. They had already heard about it (obviously) and tried convincing Caroline, Bonnie and me to join them. But Bonnie had a project she needed to work on, and Caroline said she'd only go if I went. The thought, as sweet as it was, still left me shaking my head and muttering on about homework and work applications.

Being closer to Matt then Elena, I figured faking an emergency or something was as good as any. I'd make sure he spent the entire night with me, and far away from any party. Assuming Matt would be her ride, he'd then have to cancel, and she wouldn't have any reason to go, or any means of getting there. There'd also be no fight between the two that would cause her to call her parents for a ride.

It seemed like a solid enough plan. There was only the issue of _what_ I could fake that would warrant Matt's presence when Bonnie would be home with me. But I still had time to figure that out. If anything, a breakdown was as good as any. One away from Bonnie's and somewhere Matt would have to drive to. Yeah, that didn't seem too bad. This was going to be easy.

* * *

This was not going to be easy.

Matt seemed, for some goddamn reason, determined to take Elena to the bonfire. Like, yeah, a party with booze and a fire sounded like a hoot, but why was he being so _difficult._

Football practice had started two weeks ago, and since then he spent his afternoons on the field, doing drills or whatever. I stopped being a reclusive shut in and continued my habit of sitting on the bleachers until cheer practice was over. Except now I was alone, sweaty from the heat, and glaring daggers at Matt's back.

I had tried twenty minutes before, as subtly as I could, to convince Matt to not go at all, thinking I'd nip the problem in the bud and skip over my whole meltdown idea. But he was being a stubborn child.

"I just…you know, want to spend time with her. Don't really get to much, anymore. She has cheer practice, and now I have football. It'll be nice." Matt had slung his duffle over his shoulder, eyes wide and earnest while I tried my hardest not to smack him on the back of his head.

"If you really wanted to spend time with her, you would both _make_ time. What difference does the bonfire make? It's not like the party is the only time you'll be able to see her. If you can make time for a lame get-together in the woods, you can make time for an actual date. You know, something _romantic_."

But Matt had just shook his head. "I know that. But I don't have any cash to go somewhere nice and the bonfire's free. I'd like to spend time with her and have friends nearby. It's not like these parties happen often, anyway."

Frowning into my water bottle, I had let it go, afraid of sounding too pushy and upsetting Matt. I'd just stick to my plan of having him cancel.

That decision left me feeling uneasy. There were too many variables to consider, and though I was tempted to break something from Matt's truck, that would leave me with too many loose ends to tie and the permanent feeling of being an asshole following me around until the day I die.

This was not going to be easy, but nothing in this town ever was. I at least had the upper hand.

* * *

The bonfire was tonight.

Matt, Elena, Bonnie and me were walking toward the front of the school. Practice had ended a while ago, but I could still feel the hot press of metal against my backside. Adjusting the sunglasses on my face, the flushed skin of my cheeks still warm, I sighed in relief as the shade from the trees made the temperature drop a few degrees.

As Bonnie finished complaining about an assignment for history, the sound of her pompoms hitting her legs in finalization, there was the briefest of moments where everything slowed down. The people in front of us seemed to be wading through molasses, a car on the street was crawling along in a barely-there movement, my hand was still mid-air, not quite reaching my side yet. The sudden rushing in my ears made me feel like I was drowning.

"Caroline told me that my ponytail lacks 'zhuzh'."

And just like that the world was right again. People stepped out of our path, the car turned out of sight, my hand rested against my thigh. The roaring in my head dulled.

Matt laughed, "I don't even know what that means."

"It means Caroline is driving Elena crazy, as usual," Bonnie piped up from beside me.

The conversation felt off. Something I couldn't pinpoint within the mess of emotion spiraling within me at once.

 _So, as I psychically predicted, flare jeans are making a comeback_.

"Yeah, that's Caroline. Tell her to criticize you in English next time."

 _That doesn't make you psychic, Bonnie. It means that you watch too much Top Model._

"And face the wrath of Caroline Forbes? I'd rather take criticism I don't understand."

 _Say what you want, but I've got a bad feeling about the bonfire tonight._

"Well at least it's criticism and not insults."

My steps faltered so suddenly I almost tripped over myself, breath hitching fast enough to cause a sharp pain in my chest.

 _It doesn't matter because I can't go._

"Sam?" Bonnie asked in concern, but her voice became obscured by my thoughts.

I could feel the warmth of her hand on my arm, gentle, and all the color drained from my face.

 _I know, but Jenna's in town and my parents want to do…_

"…family night," I gasped, unsteady on my feet.

Elena's expression went from worried, to confused, to a weird mixture of surprised-and-scared all at once. She took a step back.

"What?" Bonnie's eyes flickered between Elena and me. "What's wrong?"

"I-I…my parents want to do family night, since Jenna's in town," she hesitated, eyebrows creasing as she blinked away from me. "I can't go to the bonfire."

Matt turned to Elena, now his turn to look surprised.

"I'm okay, just…had a weird moment," I whispered, and Bonnie didn't look convinced, but she rubbed at my back soothingly.

"You have to go." Matt leaned in close, hands on her shoulders and sliding down her arms. He smiled charmingly. "See if you can sneak out."

They exchanged a look between them before kissing briefly. "Gotta see Coach Tanner. Love you."

Matt left, and I tried not to stand there stupidly.

"You didn't say it back," Bonnie spoke before I could, eyeing Elena gently.

There was a pause, and I wondered what excuse I could give Elena for acting so strangely. It seemed as if she had forgotten about it already.

"What?"

"You know what. You can't string him along, Elena. If you're not into it anymore, just tell him," Bonnie said, sympathetically.

They gazed at each other for a moment, and the weight of Bonnie's words finally settled in. Elena didn't love Matt back.

Elena gave me a knowing look. One that was weary and almost apprehensive—a silent plea not to say anything to Matt. I hoped my answering smile was reassurance enough. This was not the time for relationship problems. The weight of these people's future was on my shoulders. But once tonight was taken care of, once Miranda and Grayson were safe and Elena and Jeremy were spared—hopefully, _hopefully_ , I could relax.

The unspoken anticipation of being able to return home lurked in the back, but I ignored it.


	5. Chapter 5

**author's note:** _so. this happened. finally some action though, and i hope it was worth the wait! the story, from here on out, is going to pick up a bit, but it'll still be a few chapters before season one technically starts. enjoy! ~_

* * *

"Hey," the slamming of books by my head startled me. "It's only 9 and you've been asleep for two hours already. It's time to wake up."

Immediately I straightened, breath leaving me in a flustered huff. Bonnie stood in front of me, hands on her hips, looking all the part of a disapproving older sister. She raised her eyebrows for emphasis, but despite her tone, she appeared more tired than anything.

"I would've let you sleep, but you happen to be on some very important papers," she paused, "and I doubt that's a comfortable position."

As if on cue, I winced at the ache in my lower back.

"What?" I muttered, rubbing at my eyes. I didn't remember falling asleep.

Bonnie's expression softened. "You knocked out cold, doing some research or something. So I just left you alone. Didn't seem like you were waking up anytime soon, though."

Blinking rapidly, everything came into focus. The sun had fully set, the only source of light came from the porch outside. A heavy grogginess clung to my body, making it harder to stand.

"I wasn't tired," I said, voice rough.

"It's all right. I'm not upset." She smiled kindly at me. But Bonnie didn't understand.

"No—it's not that. I wasn't tired at all. Was wide awake and…and then," I shot her a confused grimace, "I think I blacked out."

"Um." Bonnie's eyes widened. "Well…wait, _what_?"

"Just—nothing. Never mind." I waved her off, feeling a stab of guilt at my blatant annoyance but unable to stop it either.

The bathroom light was blinding to my sensitive eyes. I tuned the faucet on, the sound of running water fading into the background of my mind, my focus on the phone in my hand. It was 9:17 p.m. The bonfire had started at 8.

Dialing Matt's number, my hand trembled slightly, throat dry and tight. It'd been nearing 7 and I'd already memorized what I was going to say to Matt. The text was written out, my lines practiced and as believable as they could be for when he would inevitably call. And then there was nothing. A dead end, a wall of sorts—I had fallen asleep despite being anything but tired.

The ringing stopped and the prompt to leave a voicemail sounded. I hung up and called again.

There was too much on the line tonight— _way_ too much for me to have thrown it all away to "catch up" on sleep. Saving two people's lives, especially knowing _what_ needed to be done to save them, was not exceedingly difficult; the responsibility was not too overwhelming.

For the second time, the voicemail prompt played.

Assuming the worst, Matt already picked Elena up and they were at the party together. I just needed to get ahold of one of them or had to get there in time to intervene.

Bonnie was no longer in the living room. The door to her room lay cracked open, and she sat on her bed, headphones on. I could see papers strewn around her—probably her project—her concentration on a notebook in her lap. She was distracted enough to not notice if I left…distracted enough to _maybe_ not notice if her car went missing for a few hours.

Matt's cell kept ringing, and I put it on speaker and on the counter while searching through the kitchen. As much as I didn't want to admit it, there was a possibility that I wouldn't get to Elena and Matt in time—that I'd either have to block off the path to the bridge, or go running in the woods to find Elena, or, _fuck_ , maybe I'd be too late. Whatever the case, I needed a weapon of sorts, something blunt or sharp—

Voicemail. Again.

I dialed once more and started rifling beneath the sink. A hammer lay in a basket with other supplies, and I grabbed that along with a small kitchen knife that was decently sharp.

There was no ringing this time, the call went straight to voicemail and my paranoia skyrocketed. I knew Matt was safe, knew that despite what happened tonight that he'd be alive and well. So, I called Elena this time, the ringing blending into the background as I put on a sweater and swiped Bonnie's car keys off the hook by the entrance.

Elena's phone rang and rang and rang, the monotonous sound loud in the silence of the living room. She didn't pick up either, and I all but ran outside. If she didn't answer, that could mean a multitude of things—she could be distracted with Matt, calling her parents, or already sinking to the bottom of the river. I didn't know anything for certain.

I locked the door behind me, climbed into Bonnie's car and shoved the key into the ignition. The car didn't start at the twist of my wrist, though. No lights flickered to life, not even momentarily; the engine remained completely quiet. I stared stupidly at the steering wheel, trying with all my might to rein in my emotions. I couldn't let Elena down like this, couldn't just let Miranda and Grayson _die_. I already accepted the repercussions, and now, because of my own fault, they might still drown.

Breath stuttering, I called Elena again. The ringing was amplified in the silence, and she didn't answer. Something told me no amount of calling would get her to pick up.

This was a situation where I needed a car—a means of getting to the party through Wickery Bridge just to make sure no accidents had happened. Bonnie's car wasn't working, but there had to be another way. There had to be something _else_ I could do.

Flicking through my contacts, I settled on Caroline's. She answered on the third ring.

"Sam, hey," she sounded pleasantly surprised, her warm tone carrying through the speakers and somehow blanketing my stiff limbs.

"Care…" I hadn't given myself enough time to script what I wanted to say, but goddamn it, there was _no time_. I needed a car and I needed one now. No questions asked, no more delay. I had to save Elena's parents. I had to. "I need to ask you for a big, big favor. And you can't ask any questions."

"What—? Is everything alright?"

"Yes," the edge to my voice was too sharp, too curt. An image of a car sinking in the river burned itself into my mind. "I don't have any time to waste. Just—promise me you won't ask any questions."

"I—I…okay. Okay yeah, I won't ask any questions," she was hesitant, reluctant.

"I need to borrow your car."

"You need to _what?"_

"Caroline please, I don't have _any_ time."

Shutting the door to Bonnie's car, I ran back inside and left her keys on the hook. She wouldn't notice if I was gone for a while. My bedroom door was closed, the light on. She'd think I was in there.

"Ah—oh, god. Okay, _okay_. Sure, you can borrow my car. But, Sam Bennett, you _will_ tell me what the hell is going on later. And I'm being serious."

Shoving my keys back into my pocket after having locked the front door again, I managed a dry laugh. "I will. I'll be at your house in five."

Hanging up and leaving no room for protest, I broke out in a sprint toward Caroline's house. What was normally a 15-minute walk was shortened by ten. Caroline waited outside on her porch, thin shawl draped over her shoulders, her expression only tightening at the sight of me running.

I slowed down as she walked down the steps, hand already out, her keys gleaming in the moonlight. She stared at me, a million questions in her eyes, but she spoke none of them aloud.

Instead she just said, "Later, okay? Be careful."

"Later," I reassured her, giving a brief yet grateful smile.

Clambering inside her car and speeding off, I tried calling Elena again, but my screen went black and unresponsive. It lay tossed onto the passenger seat now, useless.

Without the distraction of the phone and a working car, I realized that I was actually _driving_ , and I gripped the wheel, afraid of my muscles suddenly forgetting how to. I didn't even have my license, have never driven alone, and still carried around the heavy paranoia of getting into an accident or causing one myself. The wheels in my head were turning way too fast, thoughts racing; an old, deep-rooted panic screamed at me to stop the car. But I couldn't.

Grayson and Miranda—their lives were in my hands. I'd want someone to fight this much to keep _my_ mom alive. I kept my foot on the gas, pedal almost to the floor, headlights sweeping over the trees surrounding the road on either side in frantic bursts. Sara was barely present, tucked neatly in the corner of my mind, forcing me to rely on my own memory of how to get to the party through Wickery Bridge.

After another sharp turn, wheels protesting and needle on the dash inching to the right dangerously, the car spluttered a dry wheeze right before decelerating. All the lights inside shut off, leaving me surrounded by the accompanying darkness of the woods. I hissed, slamming my hand on the dashboard, but I knew the car wasn't going to start. Propelling myself out of the car and muttering a prayer of no one stealing it while I was gone, I ran.

The bridge wasn't too far by car from where I was, but on foot I had no idea about the distance. I only hoped I was fast enough to reach it before the Gilberts did, if they hadn't already.

The wind whistled past my ears, whipping my hair across my face, making it even harder to navigate through the already shadowy road. It didn't take long before my calves started cramping up and becoming stiff, the muscle in my thighs bulging out. Every time I landed on the front of my right foot and pushed myself forward, the unsteady release of air from my nose was deafening.

But this was it. This was it. Some of my muscles were protesting but this felt like such a powerful accumulation of events that I couldn't slow down. There was no option of doing so, anyway. I had to keep at it, the pavement firm beneath my feet. I had to do whatever I could to make sure Elena and Jeremy didn't lose their parents. I had to run even if my legs were straining and my lungs felt wrung out. I _had_ to.

I realized then that I should not have been getting so tired so soon. I had been testing my endurance and I could go longer than this without feeling the urge to stop. But, with my legs wobbling like jelly, my breath coming in short bursts, it was a struggle to raise my knees as high as I was accustomed to.

I stopped, leaning against a tree trunk to regulate my breathing. But the tightness of my chest didn't dissipate. _You're wasting time,_ I thought, chapped lips parted. _Hurry, hurry. A little pain won't kill you, but it might kill them._

It felt as if I was trying to run in water that was up to my waist. My speed was decreased, body aching, but I kept moving. Kept running. Trying my hardest to reach Wickery Bridge. That's all I had to do. And then I'd be okay. Elena would be okay, and Miranda and Grayson would be okay, too. There would be no accident. _No accident._ And Elena and Jeremy would be happy.

And maybe I'd be able to go home.

Wickery Bridge wasn't far. I could see the curve in the road that lead straight to it half a mile ahead, but the blood rushing in my ears tamped down any relief I might've felt. The ground suddenly felt unstable, the world tipping on its axis. I crashed into a nearby tree, tripping over my own feet in my haste to keep moving. There were two moons, and I should've been more worried than I actually was, but I was close, so close—

I hit the ground. Hard. The pulsing of my hands alerted me to the scraped skin there, forearms and elbows following swiftly. My vision was blurry, but I could see the gravel there, embedded under the torn flesh. But nothing compared to the weight on my chest. The push of something pinning me to the ground was strong, but I pulled myself along, bleeding palms and all, because Jesus Christ, the bridge…I could almost see it if I squinted hard enough.

I didn't make it far before I couldn't see anything anymore.

I was being suffocated, something sucking the air right from my lungs; there was nothing I could do. No amount of clawing at my chest or tilting my head back in the hopes that oxygen would somehow make its way down my throat worked. Lying on my back, holding onto my consciousness by the thinnest of threads, something touched my face.

It was feather-light and brief, and I wondered if I was imagining it. Whatever it was, it brushed the side of my face, skirting down to my neck, pressing against the skin there. The sensation disappeared almost immediately, and I sunk lower into the abyss.

The violent sound of tires screeching and metal groaning pulled me back up, the pressure ceasing. There was a loud splash of water, and then it all came flooding back. I remembered Elena, her parents, the car, the accident. It just happened. It really just happened.

Dragging myself up, knees shaky with the effort, the world tipped back on its axis. The bridge came into view, but I swerved to the left, where a trail lead to the river.

It was almost cinematic. The water was still except for where bubbles rushed to the surface, some forty something feet from where I was standing. Fumbling for the hammer on my belt loop, fear gripped me. I only took one deep breath, as labored as it was, before diving toward the direction of the sinking car.

I hadn't expected the overwhelming darkness flooding my senses. The chill of the water only increased my sense of panic, moonlight not doing much in the form of giving me a clear path. But my outstretched hands slid across the roof, and I used that to tug myself deeper. I had a death grip on the hammer—my only hope.

Hair billowed around the pale form of a woman in the passenger seat, who I assumed to be Miranda. She didn't react to my presence.

It took three nerve-wracking _thwacks_ of the hammer against the window to shatter it, my movements slow under the water. But the glass broke, a million tiny pieces flowing outward, and I yanked myself inside, the frantic beat of my heart alerting me to my quickly dissipating supply of air. Miranda's seatbelt unfastened without delay, and I turned to Grayson. His eyes were open wide, but he wasn't looking at me. He seemed focused on something just past my shoulder, instead. Elena was in the backseat.

Grayson's seatbelt proved to be much more difficult. It didn't want to unfasten. He finally seemed to become aware of my presence, pushing at my shoulder to get my attention and shaking his head furiously. He pointed behind me—to Miranda I assumed—and I nodded to him, handing him the knife and gesturing at him to cut through his seat belt. Miranda was limp in my arms, and as I swam backwards and out of the car, lungs squeezing painfully, a dark shape was already at the surface with Elena in tow. Stefan.

Breaking through the water, I inhaled loudly, struggling under Miranda's weight. I let her go in order to right myself and watched in surprise as she floated on her back. That meant she had some air in her lungs, right? That meant she was still alive? I nudged Miranda toward the shore, where Stefan was currently carrying Elena's body. I wouldn't be fast enough to get her on land before Grayson ran out of oxygen, so I watched her float for a moment, reassuring myself that she would be okay, before dipping back under the surface.

The car was directly below me, murky water still making it a challenge to find the window. Pulling myself in, I realized with a horrifying thump of my heart that Grayson's eyes were closed. The seat belt was only partially cut through, the knife still held loosely between his fingers. I continued where he left off, knowing I hadn't been gone for that long and he still had a chance. He could make it. He had to.

Yanking the knife back and forth was tedious, my wrists aching from the strain. I could feel every single beat of my heart pulsing throughout me, all the way to the tips of my fingers, signaling the near depletion of my air supply. I was too close to give up, though. I literally held someone's life in my hands. I just had to hold out for a few more seconds, a few more painful jerks of my lungs desperate for oxygen. Nearly slicing my thumb in the process, the knife slid through the last threads of the seat belt, like an answered prayer. Grayson was free.

Wrapping one arm around his waist, I maneuvered us backwards, through the opening. Limbs banged against almost every surface as I struggled under Grayson's weight. At last, out of the car, the faltering of my breathing squeezed my chest, but I pushed through it in order to use the car as leverage to push upward. There was still hope. There was still time. I could do this. I could do this.

Kicking my legs urgently, I drifted up, Grayson's body making my ascent slow. A few feet from the surface, the moon shining down on me, I suddenly, reflexively, released my held breath—what followed was a painful gulp of water. Spluttering, liquid filling my lungs, my heartbeat staggered and adrenaline and fear all mixed in my veins. Still kicking, still moving, I breached the surface and spit up liquid. Nevertheless, it sloshed around in my chest and weighed me down, Grayson's body only making it worse. I went right back under, more water going down my throat.

The kicking of my legs became horrible spasms. The fire in my lungs, the liquid filling my mouth, my vision blacking out—all these sensations blurred together as I loosened my grip on Grayson. I was going to die.

There was a faint light that grew brighter as the seconds passed. Despite the choking and seizing pain at my chest, I thought of my mom—of the smell of her perfume and warmth of her embrace. I missed her so much. She would be proud of me, even if I had failed. She would be proud despite everything. In the end, we would be together.

 _Mom,_ I thought. _Te amo. Ay, cómo te extrañé._

She looked so beautiful. I could see it now, an epitome of safety and strength.

 _Abrázame, por favor._

"Can you hear me?" she said. I frowned. My mom didn't speak English that clearly.

¿ _Mami? ¿Estás bien? ¿Qué pasa?_

"Hey, hey, stay with me. I…" the rest of my mom's sentence was garbled, and I grew more worried.

 _Aquí estoy, no voy a dejarte._ But even as I thought the words, there was a pressure on my ribs that made me shake from the force of it.

 _No no no. ¿Qué esta pasando? ¿Por qué me duele tanto? —_ ¡mami!

I coughed up a mouthful of water, body heaving from the strength of it. On my side, more liquid spurted from somewhere deep inside me. My eyes squeezed shut so tightly from the pain that I was surprised to open them and still be able to see.

It was dark, with the moon off to the side and few scattered stars sharpening suddenly. I could smell and taste dirt. Heaving up water and releasing a strangled gasp for air made me aware of hands on my back.

The sideways silhouettes of trees were fuzzy, the soreness in my lungs returning with every rattling breath I took. There was only pain—only the sensation of liquid passing over my lips and onto the ground, but the twinge in my chest lessening with every heave.

The hands at my back were steady. I blinked away the tears, fingers knuckle deep in dirt from trying to anchor myself. Rolling over was a mistake. A piercing jab at my abdomen made me curl into myself, shuddering so hard I almost bit my tongue off.

This time, I threw up whatever contents that'd been in my stomach, bile scratching my throat raw. Once the heaving let up, once I could drag in a breath without it wringing out water from my chest, I managed to ground myself. The hands were no longer present, so I laid on my back once more, letting my senses come back to me one after another.

"You're bleeding."

Only my ragged breathing filled the suddenly heavy silence. My body was too numb to startle, my nerves too frayed. Sluggishly, I looked to the side, seeing in the moonlight the blood that painted the skin of my forearm.

"Oh," I said, voice hoarse and low. "Well shit."

Stefan, illuminated by the moon and almost ethereal looking, backed up. He seemed afraid, unsure; his head tilted toward the river, his jaw a tight line of tension.

"Oh," I said again, this time with understanding. " _Oh_ , right. Right. I'm sorry. I hadn't realized."

Standing shakily, the stiffness in my bones reminded me of a metal door that needed to be oiled up—all creaks and rusty movements. I pulled my sweater off and haphazardly wrapped it around my forearm. The wound wasn't deep; it wouldn't leave a scar, and the blood was already starting to clot.

Stefan watched me with rapt attention, eyes flickering to where the bodies of Miranda, Grayson and Elena lay nearby. Stifling a near sob, I reached a dazed hand out to Miranda, the closest of the three. Her body laid slack, but her chest moved with shallow inhales and exhales—unmoving, but alive. Elena was in a similar state, with pinched features and steady breathing. She seemed to be on the verge of consciousness. And finally, there was Grayson. He laid there, next to his daughter, completely still.

I swiveled my head back to Stefan, ignoring the tears that welled in my eyes. He was dragging a hand down his face, ridding it of stray water droplets. Said hand clenched into a fist and pressed into his thigh, knuckles white.

"I'm sorry," my voice cracked. He didn't turn to look at me. "I forgot. Please…" I took one unsteady step in his direction. "I need to speak with you."

Dark eyes focused on me again.

"Look," I swayed on the spot, uncertain. I didn't want him to go, but I also couldn't go after him, not without scaring him off, or worse—making him lose control and leave behind my headless corpse. "I-I know who you are. What you are. And...and I know this is gonna sound crazy—"

The thin spiderweb of veins beneath Stefan's eyes shone in the moonlight, the faintest bit of fang glinting. Staggering, heartbeat pounding once more, I blinked away the terror that threatened to hold me. Goosebumps rose and spread along my skin; I forced back a shiver. The look in his eyes...he was hungry. He was more than hungry. This was a predator on the brink of snapping, and here I was, prey, weak and bleeding. Ripe for the picking.

"Stefan," I croaked, palms sweaty and knees on the verge of buckling, "please." I didn't know what I was begging for. I just had to get rid of the crawling sensation on the back of my neck. I had to break the spell he was under. I'd rather drown ten times over then experience this. I was at his mercy.

But Stefan reacted how I hoped. He took one step back. Then another. His eyes were wide, the whites of it starting to slither back in, surprised at my use of his name when he hadn't told it to me at all. I pressed against the wound even harder on instinct. I needed to keep talking. Keep his attention. He couldn't leave. Not after I failed so horribly with preventing the accident. I needed his help.

"Stefan," I tried once more. "Stefan Salvatore. You're a vampire. Turned in 1864. Killed by a gunshot wound to the chest. You had Katherine's blood in your system—"

A gust of air pushed my hair back, prickling at my skin. Stefan was standing in front of me, and I whimpered. I actually fucking _whimpered_. My eyes threatened to close, but I kept them open only by sheer will, ignoring the fluttering of my heart and spike of adrenaline in my veins.

"Who are you?"

"I don't mean any harm," my voice wavered. "I'm human. Let me explain myself."

He tracked the movement of my wrapped arm sharply. I swallowed down my fear. Stepping back, he peered down at me. I took it as a signal to continue.

"This...this is gonna sound crazy but hear me out. I can see the future." His eyebrows raised, but his expression stiffened. I fumbled over my words. "I saw that Elena," I gestured to the brunette's body shakily, "she would get in an accident with her parents. Right here. On Wickery Bridge. And I tried to prevent it, that's why I came. But something wouldn't let me. Everything was going wrong."

I huffed in anxiety, unable to catch my breath. I could feel hot tears rolling down my cheeks freely. I wondered if I was about to have a mental breakdown.

"And I saw you, Stefan. I saw you saving Elena," I paused. "She looks exactly like Katherine, doesn't she?"

Whatever distress twisted Stefan's face at my words disappeared in a split second, head pointed toward the road. I suddenly had the irrational fear of it being Damon that Stefan sensed, the future as I knew it falling apart right before my eyes.

"We have to leave."

My brows raised in surprise, mouth opening and closing in the most ungraceful manner. " _What_?"

"Someone is on their way," he offered no further explanation, instead opting to take one lingering glance at Elena before motioning for me to follow him, footsteps hasty.

"Fuck," I said, eloquently.

We reached the road, me all but hobbling and Stefan impatient at my lethargic pace. I shivered and made sure I was not too close but not far either; a respectable distance. "My car, it's not too far from here."

Stefan grimaced, "You're too slow."

"I almost _drowned_."

There seemed to be a war raging in his head. I struggled to focus my line of vision on him.

"Neither of us are going to like this," he sighed, "but I'm going to have to touch you."

"Um…" I frowned, uneasy. "Can you repeat that?"

"It won't be long until the EMT's are here, and we might get caught wandering around. I need to take us to your car."

His features were haggard. He pointedly ignored my forearm, favoring instead to look deeply into my eyes, like this was some cheesy romance novel or something.

"O-okay. Vampire speed. Gotcha," I tried to smile but my stomach churned with the effort.

"It'll be quick," he said, right before scooping me up without warning.

Everything became a terrible haze, the wind relentless against my face and the cold seeping down to my bones. I didn't even have the time to turn my head away before I was back on solid ground, Stefan putting a good ten or so feet between us.

Which turned out to be a good idea, because I almost immediately keeled over and vomited what felt like everything I've ever eaten in my entire life.

"Shit," I gasped, dots spotting my vision. "Am I dying?"

Stefan didn't say anything, and I continued to heave until there was nothing left, my stomach an aching mess and my mouth tasting like acid. I had half a mind to topple onto the floor to the side and not directly into the mess I made, sucking in air like it might be taken from me at any moment. Which it had been, at some point, making it an acceptable reaction.

Doing my best to wipe the bile from my lips with just the back of my hand, I staggered over to Stefan, who stood beside Caroline's car. It was unlocked, the keys inside, abandoned in my haste to leave as soon as possible.

"Get in," I muttered, all but collapsing into the driver's seat.

Stefan obeyed, and the silence was filled with the sounds of wet clothing slipping over leather seats, my own shoes squeaking as I settled as best as I could while half-frozen and dizzy. Caroline was going to kill me.

Turning the key in the ignition, wondering if I could turn the heat on without gas, I started violently when the engine rumbled, headlights flashing on and illuminating the trees on the right side of the road.

It dawned on me then, as the meter on the dash pointed to a nearly full tank of gas, that everything—the blackout preventing me from getting to Matt before the bonfire, Matt and Elena not answering my calls, Bonnie's car not starting and Caroline's stalling out of the blue, the weight I felt while running toward Wickery Bridge, and nearly passing out before I got there—had happened on purpose. Something clearly didn't want me to interfere. And it had succeeded.

With a death grip on the steering wheel, heat blasting from the vents and Stefan Salvatore in the passenger seat, there was no doubt in my mind that Miranda and Grayson Gilbert were dead.

* * *

 **end author's note:**

[translation]

 _Te amo. Ay, cómo te extrañé_ ~ I love you. Oh, how I missed you.

 _Abrázame, por favor_ ~Hug me, please

 _¿Mami? ¿Estás bien? ¿Qué pasa?_ ~ Mom? Are you okay? What's happening?

 _Aquí estoy, no voy a dejarte_ ~ I'm here, I won't leave you.

 _No no no. ¿Qué esta pasando? ¿Por qué me duele tanto? —¡mami! ~_ No no no. What's going on? Why does it hurt so much? Mom!


	6. Chapter 6

It occurred to me that if any leftover water in my lungs didn't manage to kill me first, then hypothermia would. All the windows were rolled down, per Stefan's request, his glare had non-too kindly been pointed at my sloppily covered forearm. I couldn't feel the left side of my face anymore, the cool wind that blew in permanently attaching itself to my skin. I tried unclenching my fingers from the steering wheel and I swore they creaked with the effort.

I had driven out of the woods, now surrounded by empty streets and porch lit front houses. Stefan seemed to be waiting for me to speak first, but I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the chill in my bones or ache in my chest. _I almost drowned,_ I thought. _I almost died._

Grayson and Miranda's faces flashed in my mind then, and I barely suppressed a flinch.

"Stefan," I said, my voice scratchy. "I'm sure you have questions. Ask away."

He was silent long enough for me to sneak a glance at him. He was facing the open window, expression unreadable. I wondered if he even heard me at all when he relaxed his jaw, throat moving as he swallowed.

"Who are you?" he asked, still not looking at me. _He must still smell my blood._

"My name's Sam."

He turned to me then, eyes narrowed. "Sam…?"

"Bennett. Sam Bennett."

His eyes seemed to widen just a fraction. Oh, _right—Bennett witches._

"I'm 16," I continued, nervous. "I'm human. And I can see the future."

"How long have you been able to?"

I hesitated, fingers tightening on the steering wheel, the raw skin there tingling with the effort. "Three weeks."

He considered this, lips pulling downward. "And what have you seen?"

I huffed, almost rolling my eyes. "Now that's a loaded question."

"Why do you say that?"

"I've seen _everything_ , man. Fucking everything. And you know—" a slight laugh escaped me, making the pain in my chest flair jaggedly, "I thought that I could prevent tonight. I prepared for it. Only to change absolutely nothing and almost die in the process. Whoever decided to let me have a psychic ability chose _the_ most incompetent person."

He just stared at me. "I don't think that's how it works," was what he finally settled on saying.

"Yeah, well," I grinded my teeth together, "this still sucks. And that'san understatement."

"You said…you saw everything," Stefan paused, struggling to find the right words. I lost count of how many times he had sighed through his nose in the last 10 minutes. "What exactly does that involve?"

"Everything starting from the car accident to, damn, I think four or five years from now? I don't even know." I shrugged, almost running a stop sign. "It's a lot of time, though. And it all revolves around this town and Elena."

"Elena," Stefan seemed to taste the name, eyes flashing. "Tell me about her. Why does she look like Katherine?"

"You're in for a wild ride. She's a doppelgänger."

Stefan at least had the decency to not look at me weirdly. "I'm sorry, a what?"

"A doppelgänger. You know, like a twin. Except not." All sarcasm was lost in a coughing fit that had me thumping a heavy hand against my chest, earning me a sharp look from Stefan. "I feel like I'm _dying_."

"If you think that now, just wait until the adrenaline gets out of your system."

"Thanks. You're very helpful." I bit back.

"Can you explain how Elena's a doppelgänger?" he asked, ignoring me. The crease between his eyebrows deepened on his brooding face.

"As long as you promise not to go around shouting what I tell you to people. I trust you, Stefan. Or rather, I trust the Stefan I've _seen_. You aren't him, not completely. You might change because of what I'm going to do. So, you gotta promise me you won't say anything. Keep this a secret. It'll all make sense in time."

"Why should I trust you?"

It was a loaded question, and I resisted the urge to toss my head back and groan like a child about to throw a tantrum. Mostly because I could feel a killer headache coming on if I wasn't careful.

"I'll let you decide that as I talk. I can't force you into anything, Stefan. I'm human, I don't have any vervain in my system. I'm just a teenager who can see the future and wants to prevent so much shit from going down. If after this you don't believe me, then fine. I gave my two cents. Right now, I just want you to promise me you won't go off repeating what I tell you."

He was silent, brooding face in full force. I flexed my fingers on the steering wheel once more, wincing at their stiffness.

"Fine," he sighed, and I only barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes once more. "I promise."

"Good." I nodded, more to myself than anything. "The reason Elena's a doppelgänger and looks exactly like Katherine is because Katherine is a doppelgänger herself. Four doppelgängers' have existed in total. Reason why is convoluted and confuses me too, so if you want me to explain that now it'll be a mess. You'll know soon enough, anyway. When Katherine was human she gave birth to a child. One she lost touch with when she became a vampire. That child continued the bloodline and allowed for Elena to be born."

I chanced a look at Stefan, who had multiple wrinkles on his forehead. It would've been slightly amusing if it wasn't for his rigid posture, the crossing of his arms almost threatening.

"Okay," he said slowly; I wasn't sure if it was for my benefit or his. "Tell me more. How do you know her?"

I shrugged, then realized that probably wasn't the best response. "Ah, we've been friends since I moved here. Known her since I was six. Anything in particular you want to know about her?"

"She's human." Stefan mulled over his own words, body tightening even more, somehow. "I…thought she was Katherine. She looks just like her and…is she—what is she like?"

"Well, she's not like Katherine. Not exactly, anyway. And that sounded way more ominous than I meant it to. I just, we all sort of have the capability to be a certain way if a circumstance deems it, you know?" I could've face-palmed right there. I was explaining this terribly. "Like, like in the future, the future that I've seen, Elena changes. For better and for worse. She…she's self-centered, in a way. Becomes blind to those around her and does some awful things in order to survive. Kills people, gets people killed, you get it. I—fuck, I'm butchering this completely. Elena, the Elena you saved, the one who almost drowned, but you rescued—she is…oh goodness. She's kind. And caring. Sweet, and funny, and she means no harm. Absolutely no harm. What happens in the future sucks, and it affects her more than I wish it would, but we—I—can prevent this. Prevent circumstances from ruining people that don't deserve it.

"And I tried to save her parents. I've known about them drowning for almost a month and I didn't do enough to prevent it. I wasn't sure what to do, but I could've done _more_. Now Jeremy and Elena are going to have to go through that loss. It's my fault."

Pressing a bit too forcefully on the gas, I leaned my arm out of the window, clenching and unclenching my fist away from Stefan's watchful gaze. The sting returned to my eyes, but I pushed it down. No amount of crying would fix what I had failed.

"Elena's a good person," Stefan paused, "but in the future she becomes like Katherine, in a way. You thought saving her parents would prevent this? And you think you didn't?"

"Good person, yes. In the future, that's when people's morals start to become blurred. That's just my opinion. Maybe you'd see it differently, I don't know. I'm not trying to sway you here, Stefan. Just telling you what I've seen." I scrubbed a hand across my jaw, tired. "Saving her parents wouldn't fix everything, but it was a start. It was a start, and I know I didn't save them because the entire time I was trying to prevent this whole night from happening, something was fighting me and—"

" _Fighting_ you?"

"Yeah. I had a plan. I was going to distract Matt, Elena's boyfriend, who was going to pick her up to head to the party in the woods. The message I was going to send him was already written out, my lines already memorized. Before I could do anything, though, I just blacked out. Bonnie—my cousin—woke me up almost two hours later. I had been out cold. And when I tried calling Matt or Elena, neither of them were answering their phones. The party had already started, so I was going to take Bonnie's car and head over to the bonfire, but it wouldn't start. I called Caroline—a friend—and told her I needed to borrow hers, no questions asked. It stalled in the middle of the woods. And when I was trying to run to the bridge, there was this weight on my chest, man. Something was making it harder to move and breathe and at some point, I collapsed and couldn't get back up. Once the car crashed into the river, it let me go.

"If something, whatever it was, had been so adamant about stopping me from interfering, then they must've died, right? Only Elena was meant to survive, and something didn't like me trying to change that."

I flushed with embarrassment, realizing how I had been rambling so messily, words stumbling one after another in their haste to get out. Even my breathing was a little uneven. I started bouncing my unoccupied foot—another tic—in anxiety.

"I saw you," he said, suddenly. "On the ground, I mean. I had been walking around in the woods and heard you running. It sounded like you weren't doing too good. When I found you, you were on the ground. I checked your pulse, but I pulled away when I noticed your hands were bleeding a bit. I left once I heard the car crash. The last thing I expected was to see you again, especially in the river."

"I thought I imagined that." I fiddled with a loose piece of skin on the bottom of my palm, unsure. "Well, I appreciate the effort. Seems like me bleeding around you is a recurring theme."

He shrugged, turning his face away from me. "Both of Elena's parents are alive. I'm not completely sure about her father, but her mother was breathing steadily. There are a lot of complications when it comes to drowning, a lot of different ways it can kill you. As of when we left, though, they were both alive. You did save them."

Not expecting the change in subject, I huffed, and that single motion brought an onslaught of agony I was unprepared for—knuckles whitening on the steering wheel as I tried to see past the fuzziness.

"Are you sure?" I rasped.

Stefan nodded once, and I let out a watery laugh. _I did it. I actually did it._

"I managed to change something. I'm not so useless after all."

"I may not know you well enough to say this, but I wouldn't say you were ever useless. You managed to pull two grown adults out of a sinking car yourself. I'm a vampire, and even I didn't do that."

A smile tugged at my lips. "Only reason you didn't was because you were distracted with Elena looking like Katherine."

"If you say so." There was amusement in his eyes for a brief second before it disappeared completely. "What role do I play in what you saw of the future?"

"Do you want the whole story or just the summary?" I asked, making a left turn. A deep ache started to pulse at my ribcage.

"I don't think we have time for the whole story."

"All right, I'll give you the basics." A car approached from the opposite side, and I timed it so when I brushed the hair from my face, my hand blocked their view of me. I eyed their taillights warily, watching them make a turn a few blocks down. "You come to Mystic Falls to visit like you do every so and so years, and you hear a car crash into the river. You try to save Elena's dad, but he makes you save Elena first. You do and realize that she looks like Katherine. Elena's parents are both dead by the time you go back to rescue them. You're intrigued by Elena, so you basically stalk her over the summer. You think she's Katherine in disguise, but you realize soon enough that this is a different person. You still want to get to know her, so you enroll in Mystic Falls High School, and you two meet on the first day of her junior year. You guys start bonding and become close and you eventually fall in love with her." I turned to him, releasing the steering wheel to do an overdramatic shrug while raising my hands, regretting moving so abruptly the second random parts of my body started to hurt. " _Ouch_ — ah, spoiler alert. Whoops. Anyway, what you don't know is that your brother has been in town as long as you have and has been watching you watch Elena. He kills some of the locals, pisses you off, and refuses to leave town. He has an ulterior motive to being here, but he doesn't tell you. He gets to know Elena, too, by…by doing some awful things in the process." My mind wanders to Caroline. "And, like, I literally said summary and now I don't know where to go from here. I can tell you almost everything that happens from here to four or five years in the future, but that's not what you asked for. You're important. When it comes to this town, these people. I can't summarize that, especially if I don't know if you even believe me or not."

"You're throwing one curve ball after another. I'm still processing half of what you said."

"Right, sorry. Take all the time you need."

There was only a beat a silence though, before Stefan straightened in his seat. "Is Damon in town right now?"

"Yeah, he is. He…" _don't say it, don't say it. He totally didn't meet Elena first. You fool._ "He's around. Didn't see you save Elena, though. I don't think he knows about you being in town until a little later on, actually."

"This isn't good." Stefan frowned so deeply I did a double take.

"Well, _obviously_. None of this is good." I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from being unnecessarily sarcastic. "Your brother is a loose cannon and only complicates things. I don't dislike him or anything, but he's unpredictable and there's only so much I can do here. I'm going to be surprised if I even live long enough to graduate high school." _For the second time,_ I thought, glumly.

"What is Damon's reason for being here?"

"Katherine," I said. "A comet's going to pass in a few months. One which'll let him, with a spell done by a Bennett witch, open the tomb. You know where it is."

"I do," he spoke so quietly I wondered if he had said any more than that.

"He's here to get all the stuff needed for the spell. And to get a witch to preform it, which basically means Bonnie. Or Sheila. He won't stop at anything to get her out of the tomb."

"You sound amused." Stefan narrowed his eyes at me gradually.

"Not amused, _annoyed_. Katherine isn't even in the tomb."

Stefan went deathly quiet, and I once again questioned if I was telling him too much. I needed to convince him to help me, at whatever cost. Doing this alone would be a suicide mission. It wouldn't take long before Damon, or Katherine, or _Klaus_ , found out I knew too much and killed me.

"Look, I need you to understand something, Stefan. Like really, _seriously_ understand something." I made a left turn, another one of many. "Shit's gonna go down. You think you've lived through chaos? Well you're about to have life slap you in the face without remorse. And I wish I didn't have to drag you into this, but even if I hadn't met you tonight, you'd still be in the crossfire. It's fate, I guess. Or destiny. Whatever. That doesn't mean there's no hope, though. I _know_ what happens. I _know_ what to look out for. I just need your help. We can stop so many things from happening. Save so many people. People you will grow to love and care about, and some you already do. We can save this goddamn town, save the world, even…" I trailed off, anxiously shifting in my seat. _You're my only hope_ , I thought. _I don't think I can do this alone._ "So, what do you say?"

I couldn't muster the strength to turn my head and look at Stefan, too afraid of what I might see. Rejection, maybe. Denial. Disgust. Perhaps even anger. All I wanted was to go home, and this was my only shot. What else could I do here, in this fictional universe? Letting go of the possibility of never returning home stabbed at this part deep inside me, a part that barely kept me going.

The people I grew up with, the people I loved, the life I lived and the future I was so close to reaching—it didn't exist here. And showing up in Mystic Falls had to be for a reason. I didn't belong here; this wasn't home. Stefan held not only the fate of those he would grow to love in his hands, but also the possibility of me seeing my mom again, my nephew, of being able to hold my girlfriend in my arms and go on spontaneous late-night trips with my friends. I was young, in college, surrounded by people I would lay my life down for and determined to do the most I could with myself.

For that, for that I would do anything. For my old life, my hectic school schedule, the acne on my face and uneven skin tone and extra weight. I'd do anything just to be back, in the right body, at the right age, with the people I loved. That anything included saving those here, in Mystic Falls. Saving Elena, Jeremy, Caroline, Bonnie, Tyler, Matt, Damon and Stefan and all the other people in between. They all needed saving. I'd do my best to make sure things didn't unravel like they did on the show. Alone or not, it was worth a shot, worth the small chance that I'd wake up one morning and be back home. Worth everything I took for granted, before. Every last thing.

I ignored the sudden tears that spilled relentlessly down my cheeks, anchoring myself with an iron hold on the steering wheel. The events of the night caught up to me, finally, and became a jumbled mess with my current thoughts. It took all my strength not to start sobbing then and there, already sensing Stefan's regret—already sensing my failure.

"I believe you," Stefan said, and that was all it took.

The car slowed as I choked out a wet laugh, forehead thudding against the steering wheel in relief, nearly honking the horn. My shoulders shook as an invisible weight there disappeared, trapped in a mix between happy and fucking terrified. _He believes me. He really believes me._

"I believe you," Stefan said again, this time with a look of resolve settling in his eyes, "and I'll help you."

"Oh, thank the universe," I laughed again, a burst of giddiness flowing throughout me. _There's a chance, there's a chance._

"We need to take precautions. If Damon sees us together at all, he'll become suspicious. I need a way to contact you, so we can figure out how to meet and discuss what we're going to do. Does that sound all right?"

"Yeah, of course. You got it. I'll make a timeline of what's going to happen, so you don't have to deal with my ramblings. We'll figure something out."

Rattling off my number, Stefan assured me he had memorized it. There was so much more I wanted to say, but Stefan's curtness was evident. He probably had a lot on his mind. _Oh buddy, it' only going to get worse._

"Where do you want me to—?"

"This is fine," he interrupted me.

I didn't take my eyes off the road in front of me. He was uncomfortable and wanted to leave. Me crying all over the place probably wasn't what he was expecting. "Call me anytime." I sniffled. "We'll figure out where to meet and all those other details later. I…thank you. For believing me."

"I'll see you, Sam. Get somewhere warm." And with that, Stefan stepped out of the car and disappeared as soon as the door closed.

I blew a breath, immediately pressing one icy finger to the button to raise the windows and bumping the stiff knuckles of my other hand against the heater switch to turn it on. I made an ungraceful U-turn, backed the car up a bit and sped down the dirt road I had somehow ended up on.

I needed to let Caroline know I was on my way back, but one glance to the side let me see that my phone had slipped between the passenger seat and the cup holding rack. I managed to squeeze it out while driving, remembering too late that it had died in the middle of calling Elena.

Yet, the screen lit up so brightly I almost dropped it from flinching so hard. I sighed, eyeing the roof of the car as if there was something there, mouth pressed thin. I was too tired to care beyond that though and sent a short message to Caroline.

Circling around the neighborhood, I nudged Sara to the forefront. I didn't know where I was and needed her guidance. She meekly took the reins at my persistence, faint and reluctant, but still there. Her presence had been so weak earlier, I had almost forgotten she was here, lurking. If it were even possible, I would say she was sick. I wasn't in the mood to mull over another crisis, already drained to the point of the streetlamps merging together, a streak of light across my peripheral vision.

Sara didn't stay in control for long, eventually fading enough to become a monotone "left, right, straight for three blocks" in the background. The strength returned to my limbs, and she mumbled out a quiet "fifth house down the block" before melting into the recess of my mind once more. I could barely feel her.

Parking the car along the sidewalk, the headlights cut out just as Caroline's front door opened and she stepped out, a silhouette framed by warm light. Easing the door open, I winced at the drag of wet jeans over the seat, feeling another pang of guilt at the murky river water tainting the interior.

"Oh my god," Caroline breathed, having made her way toward me rather quickly. "Oh my god, _what happened?_ "

I shut the door rather weakly, all my weight against the frame of the car, legs unreliable as the last of the adrenaline from tonight snaked its way out of my system.

"Sam," she said, hands outstretched and face flashing with an abundance of emotions, most of which I couldn't catch. "Sam," she repeated, like a prayer. I blinked in response.

Exhaling shakily, she swallowed down whatever had been about to spill from her lips and instead her hands fluttered around me in a blur, pressing here and pulling at fabric there, muttering under her breath the whole time.

"Jesus, you need to get inside." She curled her fingers around an elbow, leading me away from the car. " _Now_ , Sam." She tightened her hold on me when she saw my mouth open in protest.

The light inside hurt my eyes, and every few steps the floor seemed to slant, making me sag heavily against Caroline. Distantly, I heard the _beep_ of a car locking, wondered when the blonde had taken the keys from my hand, wondered at how I ended up in front of the bathroom when just having entered the house a moment ago.

"I know I promised not to ask any questions. And I won't, not tonight, at least. I just need you to tell me what happened, so I can help you. You're soaking wet and freezing, your skin is pale, your hands are all scraped up and you're bleeding."

"I…I can't—"

"I need to know so I can help you. If you don't give me something to work with, I'm going to take you to a hospital," she threatened, eyes blazing.

"I almost drowned." I said, reluctant. "Cut my arm on a piece of glass."

Caroline nodded, the hint of nervousness that'd been creasing her brows wiped away with a look of determination. "Okay. I got you, don't worry."

Caroline flicked on the overhead lamp then, guiding me inside and nearly blinding me. The dull throbbing at my temples slithered to the back, now a pounding that threatened to split my skull open. I whined, throat constricting, curling into myself against the sink. " _Shit_ , sorry!" She switched it back off swiftly, a soothing hand running along my spine, but it was too late.

Collapsing into a heap, knees thankfully landing on the soft floor mat, I scrambled for the toilet, gasping in short breaths before my entire body seized up tight and coiled like a wire, before a violent tremor rocked through me. Nothing came out, nothing but choked pants and grunts as my stomach clenched so furiously I wondered for one ridiculous, horrified second if it was trying to expel itself out of my body. My hair was smoothed out of the way, and there was a warmth at my side that I knew to be Caroline, cooing something I couldn't make out.

"Hurts," I wheezed, eyes squeezed shut so fiercely I saw stars. It was only once I was caught in a coughing fit that a bit of foul-tasting liquid dribbled from my mouth, the pain in my chest nearly as awful as when the first mouthful of murky water entered my lungs.

There was movement behind me, the sound of things moving echoing off the walls. A dry cloth pressed to my forehead, glass of water appearing from out of nowhere next to my face.

"Just rinse your mouth," Caroline whispered. "Don't drink any."

I did as told, using the cloth to wipe my mouth after. The fuzzy feeling returned then, buzzing at the edges of my consciousness. I briefly considered falling asleep on top of the toilet. Caroline was no longer in the bathroom. Coughing once more, watching the dark liquid splatter across the white cloth, I shivered, dread pooling in my abdomen. At least it wasn't blood or phlegm. Just leftover water in my lungs, and what I hoped was the last of it.

Pushing myself away from the toilet, I crawled backwards, needing something to lean against. The cool ceramic of the tub was solid against my back, wet clothes sticking awkwardly to it. Sweat beaded at my temples, the exertion from dry heaving leaving me almost boneless and perspiring despite my current state of dress. Numb fingers rubbed at my tired eyes, choked breaths rattled their way out of my lungs, yet with far less force than before. Blood was smeared along the side and rim of the toilet.

Caroline rushed back inside then, arms full of fluffy towels, clothing, and a plain white box precariously balanced atop it all. She took one look at me, eyes widening, the bundle she carried set down in a flurry of movements before she kneeled at my side.

"Sam? Sam, I'm going to need you to tell me if anything hurts, okay?"

I exhaled something that was meant to be a sound of agreement, but instead was lost in the rushing of blood in my ears.

"Hey—hey. I need an answer. Does anything hurt?" she repeated, tone stern yet her eyes were gentle.

Warm fingers pressed to my throat, seeking my pulse point. My eyelids fluttered at the sensation.

"My arm," I whispered, tongue dry and heavy in my mouth, "and chest. Hurts to breathe."

"Okay." She nodded, carefully peeling back the sweater I had forgotten was still against the cut on my forearm; it barely even covered the wound, streaks of red messily covering the expanse of it.

Caroline quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail, the light outside the bathroom hitting her just right. I stared, lump in my throat. She looked like an angel.

"I'm going to clean this. Are you sure this hurts the most?"

It didn't. The constant ache and watery coughs were far worse. There was nothing she could do for that, though. I just had to wait it out.

"Yes." I blinked, struggling to focus Caroline into one singular person.

There was lots of stinging, a slight soreness to the raised skin on either side of the cut, and a brief pinch of pain when Caroline wrapped my forearm, white bandage stark against my skin.

I laid there, dazed, as she stood and started moving around the small space. Water was running behind me, she was ridding the toilet of my blood, and she gestured for me to remove my clothing.

Too tired to argue, I obeyed.

My jeans were difficult, fingers too rigid to unbutton or lower the zipper. After a few tries, I managed to do so, and the material clung roughly to my hips, pulling at the skin there and refusing to move over my thighs at a faster pace. Kicking my shoes off, the jeans slid off my ankles without fuss and over my socked feet. I nudged them somewhere to the side, toeing off my socks and sitting there, exhausted, in just my underwear and t-shirt.

Caroline tossed the napkins in the trash, leaning over me to fiddle with the faucet before grabbing a faded green towel and laying it over me.

"You have to get out of your wet clothes. You can cover yourself with this," she said, a reassuring smile on her lips. "Let me help you stand and then you can get in the bath. When you're settled just call for me, okay? I'll be right outside."

Grasping my hand, I stood on shaky legs and gave Caroline an even shakier smile in return. She left the door partly opened, and only once I heard her in the kitchen did I strip off the rest of my clothes. My calves brushed against the tub as I swayed in place, finding my balance. It was no longer cool to the touch. Instead, it felt warmer. Safe.

Towel wrapped tight around me, I dipped one foot into the water, leaning against the wall for support. It was just the right kind of temperature—not too scalding and just on the side of hot, enough to leave my skin tingling and my blood rushing to the surface, creating a lovely pink shade.

"Caroline," I rasped, half-sitting and trying with all my might to not just collapse into the tub.

The blonde appeared out of thin air, her steady hands under my arm and against my back, easing my rusty movements. Once everything but my face, neck, tops of my shoulders, and bandaged arm were submerged, I sighed loudly, shuddering with the heaviness of it.

The facet was turned off, the silence like cotton in my ears. I shifted until my knees poked out of the water.

"Thank you." I gave a weak smile, eyes unfocused. "This feels nice."

It did. The warmth soaked deep into my skin, passing muscle and wrapping itself around cold bones. I hadn't realized how cold I was until I started shivering relentlessly, goosebumps raising and spreading everywhere. A burning sensation took over the most numbed parts of my body, and the water sloshed gently as I slid deeper into the tub, desperate for the heat that chased away the ache in my chest.

Caroline didn't say anything, instead she ran a warm damp rag over my exposed arm. Wiping it down, careful to avoid the bandage, she hummed quietly, and her eyes were filled to the brim with questions and concerns. Yet she bit her bottom lip, turned her eyes away, and didn't say a word. She was respecting what I had asked of her, despite the circumstances. The realization made me smile again, head nodding back.

Caroline began brushing my hair, working out the difficult tangles with a practiced hand, so lightly that I barely felt her moving beside me.

I was not sure how much time passed, eyes having slid shut at some point, Caroline's rhythmic brushing and the soothing water relaxing my body—but it felt almost too soon when there were hands on my face, waking me.

Standing was much easier this time, but the towel drooped with soaked water, and at my awkward attempts to hold it up, Caroline laid a dry towel over it, allowing me to let the wet one slip down and be replaced. Dressing was only slightly painful, and I could already feel the massive amounts of bruising that would cover my body; I didn't mind as long as I didn't start hacking up blood or mucus or woke up with pneumonia. Aches and tender spots were temporary and easier to explain rather than being in the hospital with liquid in my lungs.

The second I left the bathroom, Caroline enveloped me in the softest blanket, directing me toward the living room and onto her couch, a cup of steaming tea already awaiting me. I smiled at her, and she returned it, settling herself beside me.

She switched the television on, clicking to a random channel mid-way through a romantic comedy. I had properly adjusted the blanket so that I was cocooned in warmth with only my head peeking out. I fell asleep against Caroline's shoulder toward the end of the movie, my occasional coughing having died down enough for me to doze off.


	7. Chapter 7

I woke up with the taste of dirty water on my tongue; the comforter pinned around me making me feel for one short, terrifying second that I was just below the surface of the river, a few moments too late. Caroline's bedside clock beamed the numbers 2:47 am. I was grateful to see a glass of water beside it. It was so utterly silent that the clink of my nails against the glass was loud enough to make me cringe. Caroline didn't stir.

I laid back down as gently as I could, mindful of how every part of me seemed to creak with the effort of moving. My chest and ribs hurt the most, but it had dulled down and became an ache I could somewhat ignore. Caroline chose that moment to roll over, a flurry of blonde waves spilling onto my arm and shoulder that covered half of her face. Her rhythmic breathing tickled my collarbone, cheek pressing against the skin just before it. She looked adorable in the faint light, but I could see the pinch to her brows, the downturn of her lips. I wondered what was wrong as I watched a hand curl upwards and fist against my pillow, the other laying limply atop my elbow.

Sara stirred for the first time in a while, her presence growing until it glowed brightly along the back of my head, flaring up across my temples and asserting control. I let her, curious to see what she did and too tired to fight it.

She turned over to face Caroline, wincing every so often when something stung or caused a ripple effect of pain. And then she just…stared at the blonde. A flood of affection came then, admiration mingling sweetly with it deep in my chest. There was a smile on her lips, quick and almost remorseful, before it melted away. With that, Sara crawled back into her usual place, mute. The glow faded, her presence almost disappearing. I frowned to myself, half to see if I had full control and half out of confusion.

Filing it away for a later thought, I mulled over what happened just a few hours ago. As if on cue, the wound on my arm itched. I rolled my eyes, clenching and unclenching my hand as a distraction. _Note to self—be careful when swimming through windows freshly broken_.The thought triggered the memory of Stefan's face, splotchy from my unfocused eyes but still enough to make my stomach churn in fear; I shuddered and pushed it away.

The most pressing problem had to be what I would tell Caroline. There was no way I could lie to her. She knew something was wrong. She'd hear news of the accident soon and I wasn't exactly in the best position. I promised her an explanation. Just how much truth was I willing to tell her? How would I even gain her trust with such a crazy explanation?

All I knew was that I had to leave Stefan out of it. I couldn't out him—couldn't risk Damon somehow finding out about what he knew, about me, about our plan. I trusted Caroline, but if she encountered him or any other vampire for that matter, she had no way to resist compulsion. She was only human.

I'd tell her the truth—about the vision, how I tried to prevent it. She didn't have to know about Stefan, at least not now. I'd get her and everyone else some vervain soon, just in case Damon or someone else went poking around.

Settling on my back, my lids drifted shut. Everything would be okay, as okay as I could make it. With Stefan's help, there was a fighting chance. I fell asleep to thoughts of my mom and nephew, the warmth of their smiles enough to ease the pain gripping my heart.

* * *

It was 6 am and I felt like absolute shit. There were painkillers I hadn't seen before next to the glass of water. Getting out of Caroline's bed was harder than I thought it would be. Every single muscle in my body seemed to be stiff with tension, every push and pull a struggle that caused a different place to flare up with discomfort.

The bathroom brought forth memories of last night despite Caroline having cleaned it so well, I had to wonder, _did I dream everything_? The mirror reflected the most awful image of myself. My skin was an unhealthy shade, the circles under my eyes heavy; running a tongue over my dry lips did nothing. My hair was the only thing that didn't look terrible—messy from sleep, but still in its braid. There were fresh clothes resting on the side of the sink, a note laying tucked against it.

 _Don't worry, the pair of underwear is new. Bought it recently, haven't worn them. Take a shower, use whatever you like. If you wake up first, please make coffee._

Smiling, I did just that. The coffee maker was a little hard to figure out, but I got it started after only a few minutes of fumbling. Taking off my clothes took more time, every movement a calculated shift to avoid any aggravation. There was a dark smudge of bruises littering the skin just below my ribs and around my chest; for a second I swore I tasted the murky river water again.

My shower was short, but hot. A cloud of steam puffed out into the hallway when I opened the door. The walls and mirror clouded over with condensation, my bandage curling at the edges where water managed to seep under it.

I put the teapot on the stove, curled up in a blanket at the kitchen table, and fidgeted with the scraped skin of my hands. I practiced my breathing, thinking over what I was going to tell Caroline. I started peeling at the bandage anxiously, needing something to do.

The teapot whistled, the coffee gurgled; I poured a mug of each and scratched absently at the skin around my cut which itched insistently. I heard Caroline before I saw her.

"Hey," she spoke softly, as if afraid raising her voice any further would disrupt the early morning tranquility. "How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?"

"Hi," I whispered, conscious of the tenderness of my throat. "I feel better. Slept okay. Made you some coffee."

I nudged the mug in her direction as she sat in front of me, sliding her hands around the ceramic and inhaling deeply.

"Thank you." She took a sip and I mimicked her.

The warmth of the tea soothed the rawness of my throat, coaxing away the dryness. Caroline was watching me, waiting. I swallowed some more of the tea just to do _something_ , but set it down firmly, perhaps a bit too unsteadily.

"Before I say anything, I need you to promise me that you won't tell anyone what I tell you."

Caroline's hands tightened around her mug, dark brown liquid sloshing around; she hadn't added any milk or sugar. "Do you seriously think I'd go around blabbing? I may not be the best at keeping secrets, but you know you're the exception." She frowned for a moment, running a finger along a pattern on the table. "But fine, _whatever_. I promise I won't say anything."

"Okay," I said, still hesitant. "You swear?"

"Yes, Sam." Caroline leaned forward and captured one of my hands in both of hers. "Jesus, yes. You can trust me. I promise, I swear. Now, unless you want me to sign something in blood— _spill_."

I sighed through my nose, letting myself lock eyes with those bright baby blues.

"Yesterday," I began, swallowing thickly, "I fell asleep doing some work and...and I had a dream. Except it wasn't really a dream. It was a vision." I watched Caroline's throat move, lips parting slightly. Her eyes seemed to burn into mine. "I saw Elena get into a fight with Matt. She called her parents to pick her up from the bonfire and they got into an accident on Wickery Bridge. Only she survived.

"I...when I woke up, it felt so real. Something like that's never happened before. It was vivid. Palpable. I just had to make sure Elena would be okay. There was an instinct that screamed at me to go, to make sure she was alive and well. I couldn't shake it off no matter how hard I tried. And neither Elena and Matt were answering their phones. I think Matt's died, and everything felt off. Bonnie's car didn't want to start, so I called you.

"I know how crazy this sounds, Care. Trust me, I know. But when I got there, Elena and her parents were sinking to the bottom of the river, and I just barely got them all out."

I could see the whites of Caroline's eyes all around, a million thoughts racing through her mind at a mile a minute. I expected her to pull away from me, in fear, incredulity, distress. But the blonde didn't. Instead, her blue orbs lowered, staring at nothing in particular, brows hiking almost comically toward her hairline. A beat passed, then another. It was quiet for a little while, until Caroline freed one hand to grab her mug of coffee and down it all in one go.

The ceramic clattered against the wood of the table. Caroline reached for the pot and filled her mug again, only to swallow it down unhealthily fast.

"I'm going to need a lot of coffee for this," was all she said, already on her third refill.

"…right," I enunciated slowly, letting Caroline cope in her own way. "Well, that's it. Had a vision, it came true, almost drowned saving Elena and her parents. And you can't tell anyone this, okay?"

Releasing me from her tight hold and leaning back unceremoniously, Caroline rubbed a hand along her face. "If you keep repeating that I'm going to throw the coffee pot at you."

"Sorry. This is just…serious. Very serious. You probably think I'm crazy. If you don't believe me now, you'll hear about Elena being in the hospital soon."

Caroline froze then, holding her breath. She stood so quickly her chair knocked over and she had to grip the edge of the table for balance.

"Oh my god, oh my _god_. I-I…Elena's in the hospital. Shit, shit, we have to go check up on her, like, right now." She jumped over the fallen chair, sliding down the hallway from the momentum and her sock covered feet. "Come on, grab what you need."

"Care—wait, hold on. We can't go until someone lets us know she's in the hospital in the first place." I hurried to catch up to the blonde, still sluggish in my movements. " _Please_."

Caroline did a full 180, running her hands through her hair in frustration while stomping back to the kitchen. "You're sure she's alive? And her parents?"

"Only Elena," I mumbled, wrapping my arms around my mid-section. "I'm only sure Elena is alive. Her mom was breathing when I left, but not her dad. I can't say anything for certain."

Caroline sighed, slumping against the counter. "I think I drank too much coffee."

"Four mugs of straight black coffee?" I whistled through my teeth. "You need some water in you."

"Yeah, yeah I do." She sat down on another chair, not bothering with the one she tipped over. The hand resting against the lower half of her face trembled. "Not feeling too hot."

"Here," I said, handing her a glass of water.

I could see with starling clarity the weight of my confession stooping her shoulders as the quiet dragged on. Her eyes became glassy, leg bounced, teeth worried her bottom lip. Once her frame stopped sagging, I cleared my throat.

"Do you have any questions?"

Caroline laughed, but it came out muffled and strained. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," I admitted, shrugging. "I'm trying to figure that out myself."

"So-so you had a vision that came true. You saw this whole accident play out, right? All before it happened." She was waving her arms around excessively, still jittery, but I didn't say anything. "And what was meant to happen? What did you originally _see_?"

"Only Elena survived."

"O…kay. And you said you got them all out of the car?"

"Yes."

"And that's all? You saved them and then left?"

"I couldn't stay. People would ask questions, wonder why I was there with a car that wasn't mine. Staying wasn't an option."

"How did you almost drown?" Caroline crossed her arms over her chest, crease forming between her brows.

"While I was trying to get Elena's dad out, I ran out of air. Some water went down the wrong pipe, but I managed to get to the shore."

"You managed to pull three people from a sinking car and give them all CPR?"

I frowned at her tone but nodded once.

"Sam," Caroline said calmly, as calmly as she could with her foot taping relentlessly against the kitchen floor, her eyes meeting mine sharply. "The passenger seat of my car was also wet."

A long, suffocating beat of silence passed before I deflated, a multitude of emotions coursing through me at once. The ticking of the kitchen clock filled the silence. I wondered if it was possible to will the ground to swallow me up.

"There's something you're not telling me." The blonde drummed her fingers quickly against the table, leaning forward intently. "Who was in the car with you?"

My throat bobbed with the effort to speak around the lump in my throat, tongue dry and heavy. "I can't tell you."

Caroline narrowed her baby blues at me, eyebrows slanting and expression darkening. She shook her head in disbelief. "How bad can this be? How bad can this entire situation be, Sam? I just want to help you."

"You can't, Caroline. At least not right now. You wouldn't believe me, anyway. I need to get some stuff sorted out first. I wish I didn't have to keep the truth from you, but you'll know soon enough. I promise."

"I _believe_ you, Sam. I believe you about your vision and I'd believe you if you told me you saw aliens, or the apocalypse is coming, or that you're a unicorn. I believe you now and I'd believe you after. Look at me." She grasped my hands again, practically towering over my still sitting form. "We've been through so much together. I trust you with my life, okay? How could you doubt me? That I wouldn't help you no matter how bad things got?"

I sat there, stunned. Sara stirred again, but I didn't let her take over. Her emotions were amplified though, and I could feel tears welling. _I would never doubt you,_ she thought. _Never, never._

"I'm sorry," was what I said instead, voice hitching. "I trust you, too. But I just need time. A little bit of time and then I'll tell you everything. This is to keep you safe."

Caroline closed her eyes, rocking back on her heels slightly. She nodded, expression still anguished. I stood and circled the table, pulling her into a hug so tightly I had trouble breathing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't want to have to lie to you. I'll tell you everything soon. Please."

The shrill ringing of a phone somewhere broke us apart, and I could feel something akin to lead sinking in my stomach.

* * *

Liz had called Caroline, Caroline had called Bonnie, and the domino effect took on from there. Caroline drove us to the hospital, her nose only having been slightly wrinkled from the pungent smell of damp leather and dirty water, towels being set down for us to sit on without fuss. I was sure the only reason she didn't throw a fit was because of my non-stop apologizing and guilty expression.

The drive over had consisted of me fretting over my appearance and how to act. Caroline had taken care of Bonnie last night, messaging her that I would be sleeping over. But I was sure she'd see through the makeup, see the bags under my eyes and notice how excessively covered up I was. Walking was a little easier, but I still moved too slowly to be considered normal. Someone would catch on.

The hospital was daunting in the way only hospitals seemed to be. I resisted the urge to wear shades indoors because of the attention it would draw and questions it would spark. After many winding halls and getting off at the wrong floor, we found where they were keeping Elena and her parents. Liz hadn't said much other than "accident" and "hospital" before she ended the call. I suspected if there were any bad news, she didn't want to break it over the phone.

Bonnie had been outside of the room Elena was in, Jeremy apparently inside. Visiting hours weren't until 9, and it was barely 7:45. We stood together in silence, holding hands and waiting it out. Matt arrived sometime after, around 8, and soon there was a small gathering of people in the hallway. At least, until a staff member ushered us to a waiting room.

The worst part wasn't the tediousness of waiting, no. It was seeing the expression on some of the nurses' faces—pity. I used Bonnie's shoulder to ground me and gripped onto the last recess of hope I had.

* * *

Grayson was dead.

The words cut deep, regret and failure flooding me at once. Caroline pressed a steady hand between my shoulder blades, comfortingly. The only thing that made the revelation bearable was hearing that Miranda and Elena were both stable— _alive_.

I managed to change something, and the world felt different, somehow. Altered. As if something cosmic had happened—the planets and stars aligned in a way they weren't originally meant to.

I ran into Jeremy while on my way to the restroom, needing to gather my bearings. He looked absolutely wrecked, his eyes bloodshot and clothes wrinkled. He didn't seem to be watching where he was going, shoulder slamming into mine, and I barely restrained a curse as pain flared up my entire torso's left side. Jeremy was crying.

"Hey," I said, because I couldn't think of anything else to say.

Jeremy startled out of his trance, a deer caught in headlights. I offered him a smile, realized how stupid that was, and let it drop gracelessly.

"Hey," he said back, but his voice cracked horribly.

He seemed about ready to run, eyes flickering all over the place for somewhere to hide, I guessed. Or just be alone.

"Come." I tugged on his shirt sleeve, offering him no explanation.

I lead him to a supply closet I had made note of earlier when I felt the news of Grayson's death was too much, needing an escape route in case I broke down. It was dark inside, smelling of disinfectants and dust. The second the door closed—and after thinking up a silent prayer that no one catch us and start a scene—Jeremy practically collapsed, his legs giving out completely. I held onto him, partly because he was clutching at the front of my shirt like a frightened child, and partly because he kept whispering _Sam, Sam, Sam_ brokenly.

We sunk to the floor, knocking over a broom and mop in the process, and I could feel the wetness of Jeremy's tears soaking the neckline of my shirt and smearing along the dip of my collarbone. Words wouldn't help the situation; words wouldn't bring his dad back or lessen the pain he must've felt wrapping around his heart. So, I just pulled him as close as I could, half of his body resting in my lap and the other sprawled awkwardly along the closet floor. I let myself cry with him, let our tears mingle and sounds of grief fill the small space.

It was the least I could do.

* * *

Elena was conscious, and so was Miranda, although she was too weak to speak. Elena looked just as bad as her brother, hair a mussed mess and dark bruises forming under her eyes. She didn't really respond to Caroline or Matt or me. Bonnie was the only one who managed to break through a little, along with Jeremy. Tyler and Vicki hovered by the doorway, unsure. My shirt was heavy with Jeremy's tears.

I could hear Bonnie whispering things to Elena, sweet nothings that made the brunette weakly smile. Jeremy sat in a chair with his hood up, hair falling across his face in a way I assumed was on purpose. After failing to have a conversation with Elena, Matt left, his entire body tensed and waving me off when I made to follow; Vicki nodded to me and left with him. Tyler bowed his head and stepped out of the room as well. Caroline stayed close, eyeing the tear tracks on my cheeks and dark spots on my shirt but saying nothing. Bonnie pulled up a chair and held Elena's hand, and we all pretended not to see Jeremy press a trembling fist to his mouth.

Liz showed up at some point, and I couldn't bring myself to look at her. All I'd see was her lying on her death bed, and Caroline crying. I felt like throwing up, so I left the room.

* * *

Splashing cold water on my face did little to help, but I did it to keep my hands occupied. My reflection wasn't too terrible. Some color had bounced back to my skin, the bags under my eyes not as dark as earlier on. I hadn't eaten anything all day, but my stomach twisted with disgust. A headache brimmed just on the surface of my temples—hovering, waiting for its moment to strike.

Elena had gone into hysterics, with only the promise to see her mom consoling her. She had held onto Jeremy, voice shrill and fresh tears springing to her eyes. I couldn't bear her sobbing anymore, every second in that room feeling like a fresh stab to my chest. Caroline and Bonnie hadn't been fairing any better, so we'd decided that giving the brunette space would be best, for now.

I patted my face dry with a paper towel, willing myself to get a grip. Grayson hadn't survived, but Miranda had. Despite the pain, the entire course of the future would be altered due to this singular change.

My phone vibrated in my pocket then, the sensation almost foreign to me. I blinked, coming back to the present. The number wasn't one saved in my contacts, but I knew who it was immediately.

 _Sam. When will you be able to meet? I have an idea for how to avoid suspicion from Damon._

Sighing, I rotated my shoulders, pushing them back and straightening my posture. I had to be strong. This was only just the beginning, after all. This town, these people, my friends—they all needed me. I hadn't been quick enough to save Grayson, but with Stefan's help…with Stefan's help, so much could be stopped. I needed to clear my head and start focusing on the future as best as I could. By the time September rolled around, Stefan and I would be prepared.

 _Stefan, hi. I can meet whenever. What's this idea of yours…_


	8. Chapter 8

**author's notes:** _so. this is a mess. very fast paced, covering the span of a few weeks. the next couple of chapters will be like this, just to get through the summer and to the beginning of season one. my apologies about publishing this a day late! there's lots of stuff going on and i fell behind a bit with writing. hope you enjoy this chapter~_

 **chapter warnings:** _mention of alcohol and drug use (marijuana). if you'd like to skip it, it's the fifth scene with Jeremy._

* * *

Zach Salvatore was a kind man with an affinity for literature, which I hadn't been aware of. Stefan had spoken to him previously, had set up this little meeting of ours, and now here we were, in the Salvatore boarding house surrounded by walls lined with every kind of book imaginable. It had taken me far too long to even make it up the driveway, the view of such a massive structure awe-inspiring. The show hadn't done it justice, the scenery was utterly breathtaking—the path leading to the house surrounded by vivid greens and golden browns.

The interior had been far more distracting than the exterior, though; I had to wrap my arms around my middle to keep from knocking something expensive over. It took a while for me to will myself to even make eye contact with Zach—afraid I'd see Damon's hands around his neck and his head bent at the wrong angle, instead. It still made me squeamish to meet someone for the first time when they looked exactly the way they did at the moment of their death.

"So, Mrs. Clarke said you needed a few books for your studies?" Zach had asked, steering us from our small talk and rifling through a small pile of papers, marking things off with a pencil as he went down.

I had watched him for a few moments before replying, reminding myself that even though I was inside I had to keep the act up. "Yes. I spoke with my History and English teachers for next year, and they both mentioned I'd find more resources here than at the town library."

"Do you have any idea which books you will need?"

"I have a list, actually. Mrs. Clarke mentioned that you don't allow for checkouts, so I'd have to read any books I needed here, right?"

"Yes, sorry. This isn't a public library and keeping track of everything would just cause trouble. Not to say that I think you'll steal anything, but most of these books are old. I'd rather make sure nothing happens to them, accident or not, here where they belong. Can you write down your list for me?"

Zach had given me a hard stare as he slid a piece of paper over to me.

 _Stefan has told me a lot about you. I'd rather hear it from you._

I had nodded, scribbling down a reply, perhaps emphasizing the fact that Damon could get inside the house a little _too_ forcefully.

 _There's a lot to tell. First off, something has to be done about the fact that Damon can get inside. Unless you want to keep writing to one another like this. Second, we need to make this cover as convincing as possible. I was thinking we hang out once or twice outside of the boarding house, maybe geek out over books or something. The last thing anyone needs is for Damon to get a whiff of something else going on. Third, vervain. I need lots of it. Think you can help me out with that?_

And that was how we'd communicated for a few hours, some smattering of conversation said aloud here and there for appearances sake. I left at a reasonable hour, Zach having promised to figure out a way to secure the boarding house and procure what I had requested. He had been skeptical in the beginning, asking lots of questions—which, granted, I had been expecting—but seemingly grew more trusting over time. As trusting as someone wary of the supernatural could be, that is. Not much progress had been made, exactly. All I had really done was include another person in on my secret. I hoped Zach believed me (or at least Stefan) enough to let us meet at the boarding house and plot out what needed to be changed. I sent a text to Stefan telling him when I could next meet up.

* * *

I needed to do a lot more coaxing than usual to scrape Sara from the back of my mind and bring her to the forefront. She'd been a distant presence for some time now, and if I didn't know any better I'd say that she was _sulking_.

Thankfully, it didn't take too long, and soon I was on my way to Sheila's, the sun beating down on my back and making the whole twenty-minute walk seem hours long. With Sara taking a break, or whatever, I hadn't been sure of how to handle going over to Sheila's house. Did I send her a message? Call? Just drop on by and invite myself inside?

Bonnie hadn't been too clear on the subject, giving me a strange look at the questions I asked and making it rather blatant that there was a certain level of mistrust between the two—family or not. I know it had to do somewhat with Bonnie's mom and being abandoned at such a young age, but I still remembered Bonnie visiting Sheila rather frequently—seeing as she was the only family she had—when she'd get lonely at home with her dad gone for such long periods of time.

I'd been confused, and then rather tongue-tied, when Bonnie gave me a hug, told me to stop being weird, and mumbled something about growing distant with Sheila once her drinking problem got out of hand. Not wanting to get elbow-deep in something I had no knowledge of, I managed to steer the conversation elsewhere, although it was obvious I was uncomfortable. Bonnie hadn't protested.

There was a lot I needed to do here—a lot of ground I had to cover. I'd tried to prep, write out what I would say, how I would say it, but I was useless in situations where things had to be memorized and knew I'd just make it up as I went.

I knocked on Sheila's door, and a cowardly part of me hoped she wasn't home. Maybe that was why I had chickened out and decided to stop by without notice. To my slight disappointment, the door swung open, and there stood Sheila Bennett. I gaped at her for a moment, flinching internally when the image of Sheila, unresponsive and cool to the touch, flashed briefly in my mind. Rocking back on my heels, I'd half a mind to smooth out my expression and offer her a smile.

"Sam," Sheila greeted, interest evident in the lighting of her eyes.

"Hey, Grams," I said, reminding myself at the last second to not call her by her actual name. "Can I come inside?"

"Oh, of course, honey. You just caught me by surprise, is all. Come on in."

I stepped forward, briefly proud of the steady way in which my legs moved. "How've you been? It's been a while since I visited."

"Same as always," she answered and walked straight into the kitchen as I fluttered uselessly around the living room, unsure of where to sit.

I chose a sofa in front of a small coffee table and tried to look as if I had been there before.

"Tell me, how've the Gilberts been? Sheriff Forbes gave me the news a few days ago—such a terrible shame." Sheila entered the room with two mugs filled with tea; she must've had the water boiling before I had come over.

I almost shrugged on reflex, something I did a lot when uncomfortable, but managed to turn it into a heavy sigh. "They're still in shock, it's only been two weeks. I haven't seen much of any of them since the funeral. Jenna, Miranda's sister, came to visit and help with the transition. I don't know what I can do to help."

She nodded—not at all surprised, as if she'd expected the details of my response. "When the time is right, you'll be able to comfort your friends. I know it must be awful, baby, seeing the people you love be in so much pain, but you can't always be there. Just give it time. Give them space."

"I'm trying, I promise. It's just—I feel so useless."

"You are the _opposite_ of useless. It's completely normal to want to help. But people sometimes got to help themselves, first. Miranda must be under a lot of stress right now—that happens to women who just lose their husbands. Their children's fathers. Probably, at this instant, the one thing she's wishing for with all her heart is to have him back. But, honey, you can't give her that. You can't give your friends that. No one can."

I shuddered out a breath, the sting of failure cutting across my chest all too familiar to me now. "You're right, I can't." I leaned back, letting the soft cushion mold to the shape of my body. "This isn't what I came over here to talk about, though."

Sheila set her mug down, adjusting her posture and giving me her full attention. I sat up a little straighter in response.

"Go ahead, baby. You know you can talk to me about anything."

I rotated my shoulders back, loosely lacing my fingers together in my lap. I glanced for a moment at the tea in my cup.

"I've been having visions," I began. "The first one was about the accident with the Gilbert family on Wickery Bridge, hours before it happened. And recently, I've been having more and more about the future. Months, _years_ , in advance," I paused. "I know about the supernatural, Grams. I know about the Bennett line and why Abby left. I know everything."

It was so quiet you could've heard a pin drop, and I tensed my fingers in an attempt to stop them from trembling. Gradually, Sheila's entire face fell, and those short seconds felt like someone had pushed the slow-motion button on this scene I'd created. A look of dawning horror clouded her eyes the more she thought it over. My leg itched to bounce. My hands needed to move. But I bit the inside of my cheek to stay still.

"You need to tell Bonnie," I blurted out impulsively, heat crawling its way up the back of my neck. My anxiety was going through the roof, but I gripped the last of my control and tried to focus. "Mystic Falls is not a safe place, and she has been denied her power for far too long. You have to tell her _immediately_."

"Sam," Sheila intoned as she settled her hands on top of her knees—the movement was executed calmly, but her expression remained marred by pain. "What have you seen?"

" _Everything_ , Grams. I'm not exaggerating here."

"You're going to have to be more specific than that," she stressed.

"I know what's going to happen between now and the next four to five years. I've seen things that have happened in the past, too. I know about Abby, Elena. About _Mikael_. I know so much it feels like my head is going to explode. I need your help."

"Help with what, exactly?"

"I need you to tell Bonnie about her abilities, help ease her into magic. She's going to start becoming unstable if you don't give her an outlet for her power."

"What about you?" She asked, trivializing Bonnie for the time being—much to my annoyance. "How have your abilities started developing? Visions are relatively normal, but not as detailed as you've made yours out to be. You shouldn't be able to see so far into the future."

"My what?" I asked, now confused. "I can see the future, that's pretty much it."

"Has anything else started? Premonitions, telekinesis?" While her words were clipped, she looked as if she could go on for days listing all sort of symptoms of magic.

I cut her off, "What? No, Grams. Just visions? Why would—"

I froze, the sudden weight of what Sheila suggested hitting me full force. I stared at her and blinked in disbelief. This couldn't be—I wasn't even supposed to _exist_ here.

"I know you're worried about Bonnie, but you need to start practicing, too—if what you say is true. You mentioned Mystic Falls not being safe. I can tell from the look in your eyes that something big's coming. Now, don't you worry. We'll get this all sorted out" she reassured. "I may've made the mistake of keeping things from you girls for so long, but not anymore. Magic is not something a witch can suppress their entire life. You both need to learn how to use it."

"Yeah," I said, because it was the only word my brain could come up with. "Of course."

"Let me get some books for you. I'm guessing you don't know how to read Latin."

"I know Spanish," I mumbled, mostly to myself.

"Oh, honey, don't look so miserable." She stood. "You'll be all right. I'll get you something that'll make the visions less severe. Maybe we can even figure out how to channel them, so you can have them at will."

"Sure," I said, although it was clear I didn't mean it. "Sounds great."

"Don't be sassy with me" she chided. "You sit tight, I'll be right back."

I watched her head into a room at the end of the hallway. Once she was out of sight, I let my head fall into my hands. I carried the Bennett name and was related to them directly, so why hadn't I thought of the possibility that I may be a witch? Considering all the shit that had been going down as of late, I wanted to slap myself for overlooking it. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Summer in Virginia was not kind. The perpetual heat that permeated every inch of skin enough to drive anyone mad. I couldn't leave Bonnie's house without confirming that my destination had some form of AC—something about me I was surprised to find did not bother others. Bonnie acted as if this was normal behavior on my part and didn't fuss whenever I complained or decided to stay indoors. I wrote it off as the weather simply being unbearable enough to justify a refusal to leave the sanctity of a home.

Papers were spread out before me, some in groups and others singled out. The ache in my back started up around the second hour, my furious scribbling enough to make my fingers stiff. I had promised Stefan I'd give him a hardcopy of a timeline he could use to get a better grasp on near-future events. Only thing was, I hadn't considered how much I'd have to omit for his, and frankly, _everyone's_ , safety. Some things just had to remain a secret—at least until the right time came. When that would be, though—I had no idea.

Swirling my finger absently in a small puddle of condensation formed by my glass of ice water, I wondered for the millionth time how I was going to pull this off. In theory, this seemed like a great idea. Stop bad stuff from going down, keep people alive and cue their happy ending! Except, in practice, this proved to be much more difficult and overall backbreaking— _literally_.

Each person here shouldered their own boat-load of problems. I'd originally thought that all I really had to focus on was preventing the tomb from being opened and destroying the moonstone, but it only took one look around me for me to realize I'd been naïve to think so.

There was Elena to consider, and Zach, Damon, Stefan, Matt, Caroline, Vicki, Tyler, Jeremy, Bonnie, Sheila, and the town council. I needed to cover my bases and secure the trust of these people. I was not the enemy, even if they saw me as one. I couldn't go around telling people I could "see the future" (something which was gonna bite me right in the ass the second I changed a big enough event to shift the entirety of the show's timeline—if I hadn't already—and was left without knowing how to keep people safe or what to do); that was only something reserved for those I could trust and who wouldn't go spilling the beans about me, or outing me. Sure, it was a good— _great_ —card to have up my sleeve, but if word got out to the wrong kinds of people (i.e. vampires, werewolves, the generally homicidal sort) then I was screwed. Witch or not, I was weak as hell compared to them all. Witch or not, I was literally nothing compared to an Original vampire.

So, I was back at square one.

I had told Stefan, Caroline, Zach, and some half-truth to Sheila. But that already felt like too many people. Scrubbing a tired hand across my eyes, I slumped against the floor.

 _Different people roll into town, all aiming to release the tomb full of vampires…_

* * *

"Tyler," I called, motioning him over to the sidelines where I stood.

He jogged on over, helmet in hand, after having made sure that Coach Tanner was distracted with a few players on the opposite end of the field.

"Sam," he greeted, looking confused. "What's up?"

"We need to talk," I said, almost face-palming at my cliché choice of words, "about Vicki."

Tyler almost did a double-take. "About Vicki?" he repeated, brows pinching. "What about her?"

"I know about the drugs, the alcohol, the _sex_." I shrugged, refusing to smile when Tyler's expression twisted into something almost cartoonish. "I know you don't really care about her feelings, at least not completely. She's just a good time, yeah? And hey, I respect that— _if_ it's a mutual agreement, of course. You see, I know for a fact that it isn't. You're only encouraging her addiction, leading her to think that there's something between the two of you when I know that deep down, if something came up, you'd be embarrassed to be seen with her. And she doesn't deserve that."

" _What_?" Tyler bit out, reeling. "What the hell? You don't know _shit_ , Bennett! Stay out of what doesn't involve you. Vicki doesn't need your whole knight-in-shining-armor act, and neither do I."

"I do know shit, Tyler. I know a lot of things. One of them being that you're only going to cause Vicki a hell of a lot of pain and lead her down the wrong path. She wants to get out of this town and be something, man. You really think feeding her addiction is a good thing? Can you really just ignore that and go on your merry way?"

"It's just a fling, okay? Nothing more to it than that. And I don't need to justify _anything_ to you. Not a damn thing." He had taken a few steps toward me but stopped suddenly. "Mind your own business. Don't make me say it twice."

"This isn't a game, Tyler. I'm not playing around. I didn't come here to ask nicely. Stay away from Vicki and I'll leave you alone. Keep hanging around her and I'm going to have to do something more drastic."

"Is that supposed to be a threat? It's a pretty shitty one, Sam. Thought you could do better than that," he scoffed.

"Oh, I can. I don't need a scary threat when you know I'm being serious."

"Who do you think you are, huh?" He was visibly irritated, messing with his helmet and looking like he wanted an escape. "I've been easy on you so far, just 'cause you're friends with Matt. But don't think I won't bring up the past again if I have to. People still remember. You're still a freak."

That made me pause; my lips parted in poorly disguised surprise. "What?"

"I suggest you back down here, Sam."

"I suggest you go fuck yourself," Sara abruptly said, having practically clawed her way to the surface.

She stepped forward, only a few inches of space separating her from Tyler.

" _Lockwood_! This isn't time for idle chit chat, boy! Get back here before I make you do drills 'till the end of practice," Coach Tanner bellowed, making Tyler immediately straighten.

"This isn't over," he hissed, shoving the helmet back on his head.

"Have fun at practice," Sara said, faking a smile. "Don't get your ass handed to you again."

She spun around smoothly, ignoring Tyler's muttered curses and all but stalking off the field. I felt disoriented, the complete shift in control and amplified emotions making my head spin. Sara was fuming, fists clenched and shaking by her side. She wanted to rip Tyler a new one, her thoughts violent enough to even make me—who didn't expect the heat behind it—flinch. She didn't give up control until we were back at Bonnie's, but the magnitude of her anger lingered in my veins.

* * *

I had no idea how I ended up in Jeremy's room, bottle of half-drunken beer in hand. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, no light entering besides that of a low-lit lamp and whatever managed to spill in through the crack at the bottom of the bedroom door. The house was deathly silent; I wondered if anyone else was even home.

Tipping back the bottle, I grimaced at the taste, watching intently as Jeremy's hand shook significantly less than before when lifting the drink to his lips. I could tell from the dark smudges under his eyes and rumpled sheets of his bed that he hadn't been sleeping enough. He seemed to be on a constant tightrope—the rope itself his only grasp toward clarity and stable emotions, any misstep forwards a risk of falling.

There was a war going on in his mind, one that his stash of warm beer and weed wasn't going to fix. I knew that mothering him wouldn't be the right option. Elena had tried that before and it only pushed Jeremy away. I couldn't prevent his downward spiral, but I could lessen the blow of it. Drinking and getting high—these were things I could help contain and limit the use of. Once he had a taste of anything stronger, anything more addicting, he'd be a goner.

Jeremy tossed the bottle to the side, uncaring that he missed the trash can. A flop of dark hair was matted to his forehead, his fingers precise and practiced when rolling a joint. I hid my flinch well, the itch to fidget and get out all too familiar. I had done this, in my past life. I preferred edibles, since smoking always seemed to burn my lungs and leave the smell of Mary Jane clinging to my skin, breath and hair. Too many bad experiences and a re-evaluation of my life made me stop; it was doing more harm than good.

Here, in this world, I wasn't sure if I had tried it. Sara was stagnant, faint. She didn't react to the mock-cigarette in Jeremy's hand; she didn't appear to care. I felt awful, my stomach rolling as memories of the past played behind my closed lids. _No control,_ I shivered. _Paranoia, fear, vulnerability. Taken advantage of—over sensitive. Too loud, too quiet. The world was infinite but not infinite enough. Racing thoughts, sweaty palms. Time ceased to exist._

"Are you sure?" I asked, swallowing another mouthful of bitter beer. "Hotboxing in your room probably isn't the best idea…"

"No one cares." Jeremy shrugged, dismissive. "Mom is with family friends and Elena's with Bonnie. We won't get caught."

His reassurances fell flat to my ears. "I just…you know I ain't trying to tell you how to live your life here, Jer. I'm your friend, you do what you gotta. I'm here to ride it out with you. I just wanna make sure this is what you want."

He stood gracelessly, grabbing a towel from somewhere under his bed and shoving it against the crack in the door. One less light source in the room.

"It is," he said, sagging against the leg of his bed. "I've tried talking, okay? I've tried crying, writing it down, remembering the good times. None of it works. I can't keep going like this, like I'm just waiting for him to come back but I know—" his voice hitched, staring down at the lighter in his hand. "I know he's gone for good. It's not _fair_."

"It isn't," I agreed, slipping the lighter from his fingers gently. "I won't give you any hallmark card advice and say things are going to get easier, that time heals wounds and you'll be able to go back to how you used to be, because everyone is different. Everyone handles loss differently. I still…I still miss my mom, still think of her all the time. The pain comes and goes, but I found ways to cope. Some were unhealthy, some were harmful, but I had Grams and Bonnie and I made it. I survived."

I scratched one nail lightly against the side of the lighter, contemplating. I could smell the beer on Jeremy's breath.

"I won't tell you what to do. Just remember that you have people who _will_ help you get through this. Your mom, Elena— _me_. I won't let you go off the deep end, okay? But I'll let you do what you have to. I'll be waiting here, waiting for your signal to pull in the reins and bring you back to reality. Metaphorically and literally. Don't forget that."

Jeremy closed his eyes, sighing heavily. "I won't forget, I promise. I trust you." He brought the joint to his lips, letting it dangle there for a moment. Our eyes locked. "Light me?"

Leaning forward, I did just that. The drag of the small metal wheel against the skin of my thumb made a tremor race up my spine, the orange flame flickering from the weight of my exhale. I cupped a hand around the fire, the heat of it seeping into my palm. I watched, entranced, as the end of the joint ignited, Jeremy reflexively inhaling.

I blinked, and suddenly I was laying on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Somewhere, distantly, music was playing. I felt warm and fuzzy and hummed along to whatever song was on. My hand was wrapped around a disposable cup, and I leaned up enough just to take a sip, the familiar taste of vodka and soda sliding across my tongue. The room was brighter, lighter, and I demanded that the music be turned up. Jeremy was across from me, and he did as told. I started singing along off-key and Jeremy laughed, joining in only when I threatened to finish all the vodka myself.

The edges of my vision frayed, dampening like wet paper, and Jeremy pulled the joint from his lips, chest puffed up. My thumb slipped off the wheel and the flame disappeared. He tilted his head back, waiting a few seconds before releasing the smoke in one long stream, a cloud forming above our heads.

I lowered the lighter, and the room morphed into the woods. Jeremy spun in circles and almost tripped over a tree root. I was leaning against a trunk, lit joint between my fingers, trying to blow smoke rings but being too high to really do it properly. Jeremy stopped his spinning, stumbled toward me and stage-whispered that he was hungry. I started laughing hard, the smile on his face so wide I wondered if it would split it in half. I fumbled through the backpack that had been resting by my feet and found a few bags of chips and sandwiches. Jeremy wrestled the Doritos from my hands and took another hit—I hadn't even noticed he had taken the joint from me—and managed to blow a perfect smoke ring in my face before flicking the last of the joint to the dirt floor, somehow remembering to step on it and make sure any ashes died out.

Reality bled through quicker this time, Jeremy standing by the window and yanking it open, pushing the curtains aside and letting more light in. I still sat cross-legged on the floor, bottle of beer forgotten between my thighs. Jeremy reached for it, handing me the joint as a trade. I patted the side of my head, making sure my ponytail was still in place, letting Jeremy place the joint between my lips and take a swig of my beer.

I looked down, and my arms were unexpectedly covered in black ink. It seemed to burst forth from my wrists and branch out along my forearms, curving along my shoulders and stopping at my tank top. My legs were in a similar state, shorts ridden up to allow more space for the drawings. Jeremy was hunched over his wrist, black pen held methodically between his fingers, every twist and drag mesmerizing. He asked me which my favorite part was, eyes steady on his drawing, and I pointed to my right thigh. I leaned back on my elbows, admiring the designs that painted my skin, feeling a spark of excitement at the possibility of getting tattoos soon. We just needed to wait a few more years, but for now this was good enough.

In the span of a second, I was back in Jeremy's room once more. I paused, mulling over what I had seen. I felt Sara's alertness and partial control, fragments of memories still swirling in the background as I inhaled deeply, the burn in my chest almost a comfort. When I exhaled, a seamless smoke ring floated to the ceiling. I smiled.

* * *

The boarding house looked the same as it had last time, Zach equally as kind and welcoming. We sat down at the same table, made similar small talk and wrote on a sheet of paper. There was a bag on the table next to me, filled to the brim with vervain. Halfway through the conversation, Zach slid over a separate sheet of paper, his stare intense. I swallowed involuntarily and felt my throat close up at the sight of the document in front of me. The deed to the house.

"Mr. Salvatore," I said, brain short-circuiting. "What?"

It took me a moment to realize I had spoken aloud, until I winced and pressed a hand to my face, embarrassed.

"This is a good book," I continued, wondering if it was even worth covering up. "Thank you for the recommendation."

My signature was shaky and weight of such a commitment heavy on my shoulders. I felt like throwing up and passing out at the same time.

"You are now the owner of the Salvatore boarding house," Zach said, and I let out a breath I hadn't been aware I'd held in the first place. "Damon can no longer enter."

"You trust me enough to do this?" I asked, mind still reeling.

"I've been thinking over everything you've told me, what Stefan has told me, and I know you can't be lying. And this is my town, my home. I won't stand by and just let it be overrun by vampires and let innocent people die. If I can help, I will."

I nodded dumbly, unsure of how to even begin properly thanking him.

"Let's go to the back of the house. You need to invite Stefan inside." Zach rose, and I followed, half on autopilot.

This moment felt so important, my nerves frayed and throat dry. Zach opened the door, and Stefan stood there, back turned to us and body tense.

I cleared my throat when he spun around, expectant. He rested a hand against the new barrier, confirming what had been on my mind.

"Come in," I said, rocking back on my heels as he entered, a rush of adrenaline hitting me out of nowhere.

"We can start planning everything. Did you bring the timeline?" Stefan asked, leading us all back to the library.

"Yeah." I pulled it out of my messenger bag, looking it over one more time before handing it to him. "This…is really happening? Oh wow, I'm—" I broke off, laughing nervously.

"Are you ready to re-write history?" Zach asked us, setting up a bigger work station at a longer table.

"Way to be dramatic," I muttered, but gave him a shaky smile.

"All right, let's start with the main event—the tomb filled with vampires…"

* * *

 **end author's notes:** _all righty, well. yeah. kinda like this chapter, kinda don't. i'm not the best writer in the world, but i'm trying my best y'all. anyway, this is just a heads up that I won't be posting a chapter next week (on Wednesday, like I usually do) because i really need to sit down and heavily plot out how i want this fic to go instead of mostly just winging it and going on whims. will resume on schedule next Wednesday. hope you've all been having a lovely week so far! (you can always find me on tumblr! url in my bio) ((shameless self-promotion? maybe so *shrugging emoji*))_


	9. Chapter 9

"Before we get too into detail, I think we need to talk about Zach's safety," I said, rolling a pen between my fingers, forehead crinkled.

"What about my safety?" Zach asked, halting in his organization of the desk.

"Well…you don't exactly make it out alive in the future. You're one of the first people that die," I paused, halfway through a shrug. "Not to sound like we can't prevent that, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay here."

Zach straightened at that, looking affronted. Stefan spoke before him.

"I agree with her, Zach. She told me how you die, and while we can stop it from happening, we cannot guarantee your safety after."

"Shit hits the fan pretty badly," I added, probably not helping at all. "And I think the most surefire way of you not getting caught in the fallout is for you to leave before any of it even happens."

Stefan nodded in agreement, but Zach's annoyance was visible, eyes wide with an array of thoughts which were probably unkindly directed toward us. I tried to smile but realized how misplaced it was, so I settled on a grimace instead.

"I can take care of myself, Uncle Stefan—" I smothered a snicker before it bubbled out of my chest— "There's no reason that I should leave."

"Look, I _get_ it. This is your home, your town. You and the other council members have a duty to keep Mystic Falls safe from supernatural forces and whatnot." I stood, pacing the side of the room closest to the window. "Totally understandable. The problem is, you know _too_ much. You know about me, about what I've told Stefan and you. And you can take all the vervain you want, but you can still have it drained out of you and be compelled for information."

I did a useless gesture with my hands, rocking back on my heels and waiting for Zach to start yelling. I didn't deal well with arguments—or rather, I didn't know how I _dealt_ with arguments. Sara was starting to bleed into my mannerisms more than I'd like, which at times came in handy but was mostly just confusing for me.

"What's gonna go down in Mystic Falls is pretty nasty. And I—" I hesitated, unsure, but barreled forward anyway, "I want to keep as many people alive as I can. That includes you. You don't deserve to get caught up in the shitstorm that's coming. One I can't even say has an end _to_ it. You're human, Zach. Staying here will mean you either die or get turned or change for the worse, see things, go through things, lose other people. I'm gonna do my best to save this town, but Jesus _Christ_ , I can't make any promises. I'd rather not see you _die_."

I huffed, flushing with embarrassment when Stefan and Zach just stared at me. I tried not to fidget, though I curled my toes inside the safety of my shoes, anxious. It took a few seconds before either of them made to speak, Zach rubbing his forehead with a sigh. I frowned in return.

"Can we talk about something else? I'd rather not feel useless." Zach pulled a chair out and sat down heavily, gesturing at Stefan and I to come closer. "We can discuss this after we figure out what's going to happen with the tomb full of vampires."

"As if that conversation is any less stressful," I grumbled, but obeyed and took my place at the table.

"I have a feeling its only going to get worse from here," Stefan added unhelpfully, shrugging at my weak glare.

" _Thanks_."

* * *

"I want you to train me," I repeated, because apparently Matt wasn't paying attention to me the first time.

"Okay yeah, I get that, but you have to be more specific."

"Train as in _self-defense_. You know how to box, right? I want to get stronger, faster, more agile."

Matt gave me a suspicious look. "Does this have anything to do with you not doing Cross Country this year?"

"I will punch you in the face."

"You probably have a weak punch if you're asking me to train you."

"Wanna _find out_? _"_

"Okay _,_ okay. Fine, I'll let it go." He put his hands up in surrender, side-stepping my advance on him. "I'll train you. We'll figure it out as we go, all right?"

"Sounds good," I said, excitedly jogging in place.

"Just one thing," Matt interrupted. "I won't be joining you. I'll train you, but I won't actually do any of the workouts with you."

That made me stop. "What—why?"

"I have football practice, work at the grill, and I got another job being a lifeguard at the pool. I'm gonna be too wiped, Sam."

I frowned but nodded. "Yeah, fine. This'll be boring, though."

Matt laughed, leaning over to ruffle my hair. "Trust me, with the workouts I give you, it won't be boring at _all_."

I rolled my eyes, taking a small sip of water and rotating my shoulders in a stretch. "Whatever, I'll believe it when I feel it."

"Is that a challenge?" Matt asked, grinning all too deviously at me.

"Damn right it is."

Matt struck a thinking pose, thumb stroking his chin. "All right, let's see. How about we start with a mile as a warm up, some stretching, and after we can work on your upper body strength?"

"Sure, that's—"

"You have 7 minutes for the mile. Time starts now."

I spluttered for all of two seconds, throwing Matt the dirtiest look I could muster before taking off in a sprint down the sidewalk. "I don't even have a timer set for myself!"

I could still hear Matt laughing at me halfway down the block.

* * *

The spell books Sheila had lent me gave me headaches. I had been practicing my Latin (knowing Spanish didn't really help at all, it turned out), but for some reason I'd been under the impression of it being easy to learn. It wasn't anything as extensive as mastering a dead language—but more so having a basic understanding and the proper pronunciation.

After a few days of intensive reading and practice, I was no closer to doing anything magic-related than I had been originally. I scowled at the old, leather bound books and tried not to be pessimistic. I had already gone through the stage of denial about even being a witch at all. It hadn't been pretty.

The ink seemed to blur into indecipherable smudges, but I kept reading, forcing my eyes to focus on the individual words and make sense of them. I had picked up a few words and phrases at this point, but nothing too big. Whenever I tried a spell, though, like trying to light a candle or make something float, it didn't seem to work.

I brushed off the familiar feeling of failure and scrubbed a hand across my jaw, opting to take a break. I'd try again in a few minutes.

* * *

"Can we talk?" I asked, trying and failing to act casual.

Vicki looked me up and down, eyebrow raised in interest. But she smiled at me, leaving the door open wide enough to let me in.

"Since when do you knock?" she countered, sauntering back to the kitchen, where I assumed she was in before I had interrupted. "Ever since you've been friends with Matt, you've always just walked right in. Thought you had a key."

I leaned against the hallway entrance, awkward despite doing my best to seem as if this wasn't my first interaction with her. "I do, just felt like it was politer to knock then just come in without notice."

She eyed me then, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at her lips. "Fair enough. What's up, Sam?"

I resisted the urge to rub the back of my neck, instead digging the fingers hidden by my side into my thigh.

"All right," I sighed, slumping my shoulders and trying to loosen up. "I'm assuming Tyler talked to you?"

"That he did." Her tone was clipped but not unkind. I took that as a good sign. "Care to explain why you threatened him over me?"

"No bullshit?" I asked, doing my best to pick at Sara's memories of Vicki and how they would interact. Vicki didn't like it when people said unnecessary things. She liked it straight to the point and as blunt as can be.

"No bullshit," she agreed.

"Tyler isn't good for you," I said simply, half-shrugging as I struggled to get the words out. "I know you really like him, but he just cares about the sex, Vic. Not completely, anyway, but it's enough that it'll just hurt you in the end."

"And how do _you_ know that?"

"I'm observant. I see things. If you don't believe me—which I don't expect you to—I probably sound crazy right now. Just ask him. If he says that he does care about you, then try and do something together. Go on a date. See if being seen in public together is a big deal for him. Actions sometimes speak louder than words."

Vicki took a step forward, dropping the plate she'd been holding onto the counter. "Why do you care? Why are you telling me this? Thought you were giving me the silent treatment after the whole hazing thing at school."

My mouth dried at that, brief flashes of something I didn't recognize playing in the background of my mind. Sara, if it was even possible, retreated farther into her little corner of my mind, her mood dark. I blinked away any discomfort and tried to smile.

"I care about you, like I care about Matt. You're family, Vic. Whether you think so or not. I don't want to see you hurt, not more than you already are."

Vicki shifted her weight from one foot to another. "Are you—do you…?" she trailed off, uncertain but also upset.

"No," I said, without really knowing why. Sara seemed to be better at slipping through my control at times and guiding me without warning. "You're family," I repeated, biting my cheek to keep Sara from scowling.

"Okay, right. Yeah." She turned away from me, frowning down at her unfinished sandwich. "I'll keep what you said in mind."

I took one step backward, sensing the end of the conversation and my dismissal. "You got it."

I made it to the door before Sara broke through, shouldering her way past me to speak. "You're gonna hate me for this, but I won't let Tyler hurt you. You deserve to get out of this town, Vic. Don't throw it all away."

I closed the door behind me and wondered when Sara had ever seen this town as anything other than safe, as home. She seemed almost afraid, slithering her way back to her usual spot and burrowing in deep. I'd never felt her afraid before, and it almost felt like a bad omen.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late!" I said as greeting, all but stumbling through the doorway and past Zach. "Bonnie borrowed the car earlier today and she came back a bit later than expected. Hope I didn't make you wait long."

"It's fine, Sam." Zach trailed on after me, trying to keep up with my brisk pace. "Stefan and I were just getting things set up."

"Perfect." I swerved hastily into the library, pretending I totally didn't trip over the edge of a floor mat. "Hey, Stefan."

"Sam," he acknowledged, nodding in my direction, eyes focused on a few sheets of paper in his lap.

"What're you reading?"

Stefan looked up then, brows sloped downward. "What we outlined last meeting, seeing if we left anything out. I'm writing questions in the margins."

"Great. I've narrowed a couple of things down, but there are still gaps in what I've seen. For starters, I don't know where Emily's grimoire is, but I think it's written somewhere? Still patchy on that. And I remembered—the Bennett talisman is in the Lockwood mansion. We need to get that first. It's what is needed to open the tomb. Obviously, so is the grimoire, but that's not as well known as the talisman. So that takes second priority. Not to mention again—I don't know where it is."

"You say it's written somewhere. Have any _idea_ where or in what?" Zach asked. "Anything helps."

"Well," I paused, pulling out a folder from my messenger bag and flipping through it. "All I can really remember is that it's in a journal. Not sure whose—or where—it can be. I'll update you two if I'm able to come up with anything more specific. All I probably need to do is concentrate some more. Some details just get lost within the rest of what I've seen."

"I'll see what I can do about the talisman," Stefan offers. "I'm still trying to find something concrete to tell Damon about Katherine not being in the tomb."

"I'll see if there are any journals in the library that can be of use. There's some more downstairs in storage. Searching through them won't hurt." Zach leaned over Stefan's shoulder. "What about this 'vampire compass' you mentioned? Anything new on that?"

"Yeah. I remember someone getting it from Jeremy, but I'm not sure how he got it in the first place."

"All right, that's a start."

"About the talisman—I don't know where in the Lockwood mansion it could be. I'm still blurry on the details, but I think if I go inside I'll be able to remember. Like, trigger the memory, you know?"

"You want to be the one to get the talisman?" Stefan raised an eyebrow at me.

"I'm no ninja, but I think I have a better chance at finding it than you do. Plus, I've been there a few times. You can still come along, but you'll only keep watch. Make sure I don't get caught or anything."

"Breaking and entering. This is great," Zach muttered sarcastically.

"It's _fine_. We'll figure out a day when the place'll be mostly empty and then Stefan can help me get inside. After that, I'll just need to focus and look around. Hopefully the memory comes to me. It's better than Stefan not having any familiarity with the place and searching blindly."

Stefan sighed. "She's right. I don't think I'll have the time to look everywhere for something I've never seen before. She's our best bet."

I grinned. "Damn right I am."

"Isn't there any way you can get inside without having to trespass? Do you know anyone who lives there?"

"I do." I leaned back in my chair, neutral. "I'm not on speaking terms with them, though. Plus, I don't want anyone to know I was ever there. Leaves too many loose ends."

"We can plot that out later. For now, let's see if we can make any progress on Emily's grimoire." Stefan looked around the room, lips a thin line. "This will probably take us the longest to do."

"It's a good thing we still have about two hours until I have to leave. Let's get on it."

* * *

I wiped the sweat on my face with the hem of my shirt, eyeing Matt suspiciously; he had been uncharacteristically quiet this entire session, brushing off our usual banter and working me out a little harder than I'd expected. If his kicked puppy expression and the blatant fact that he was sulking were anything to go by, he was thinking about Elena.

"You're thinking about Elena," I said, because I had no tact whatsoever and couldn't feel my legs. "Spill, Donovan."

Matt tossed a towel at me, nearly hitting me in the face. "And you've been getting high with Jeremy again. Spill, Bennett."

"Oh, wow," I paused, not really sure why I wasn't surprised. "Seems like we've both been keeping things from each another. You first."

After drying off a bit with the towel, I tossed it right back, holding back a laugh at Matt's annoyed huff.

"What is there to tell? I miss her, Sam. I miss her so much. She asked for time, and I'm going to give it to her. Doesn't mean I have to be happy while I wait."

"Doesn't mean you have to be mopey all the time, either." He settled into a lawn chair I had dragged out of the garage earlier for him, features weary. "I know you love her and all, but—"

"Don't say but. I love her, and I'm going to wait for her. She needs her space, I get that."

"You're right, she needs her space," I waved my arms around, regretting the movement immediately when my sore spots flared up sharply. "You see this? Space. Lots of space. You can't sit here and go on day by day, just waiting for her to give you some attention. You're human, Matt. Just like she is. Which means you have feelings, and needs, and limits just like everybody else. Take care of yourself first."

Matt twisted the cap off a bottle of water and tipped it back, not acknowledging what I had said until a few minutes passed in silence.

"I love her," he said simply. The raw emotion on his features tugged at my heartstrings. "I really, really love her, Sam. Being apart from her is hell, but I know losing her dad must hurt worse, so I'm keeping my mouth shut and waiting. She just asked for time and space, I can do that."

I sighed, plucking at my sweat-soaked shirt. I could see the shine in Matt's eyes, and my breathing hitched.

"I know." I nodded, shrugged and did a whole other combination of stupid movements in response. "I know."

He gave me a watery smile, and after a moment made his way over to me, laying in the grass. He didn't say a word as we watched the clouds crawl across the sky until it was almost time for Matt's shift to start at the Grill.

* * *

Sipping at a smoothie I'd just poured, I watched Bonnie gather her things into a duffel and hastily scoop her hair into a ponytail, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror by the door.

"Hey," I said, amused.

"Hey," she repeated, smiling. "Matt's going to be here soon. I overslept on accident," she explained, smoothing out the wrinkles on her shirt.

"You hungry?" I asked, knowing she hadn't eaten breakfast. "I can put together something to hold you off 'till your lunch break."

"Please, that'd be awesome."

"You got it."

The kitchen was bright with morning light, birds chirping away. There was some granola in a cabinet, and I did my best find the ingredients for a yogurt parfait. Bonnie flitted in and out of the hallway, at one point searching under the sofa for her sunscreen (it had been in the bathroom). I yawned, stretching deliciously.

"Here you go." I set the bowl down on the table, plate of fresh fruit beside it.

While Bonnie ate, I stared out the window, as always appreciating the tranquility and lazy morning hum that burrowed under my skin like warm honey. Soon, I'd have to start practicing my magic again—have to sit down and figure out how I wanted to go about Klaus and the moonstone.

Some days I itched to be outside, covered in sweat and distracted from the weight on my shoulders. The bruises on my skin were a sign of progress; the ache in my bones satisfying in a way nothing had been in months. But some days, I couldn't do more than sprint and call it a day. Jeremy was usually there, inviting and comforting. Sometimes he'd greet me at his bedroom door with another case of beer or a few grams of weed. Sometimes he'd come over and we'd blare music from my speakers and lie in the darkness, saying nothing. Only rarely did he cry. I had a feeling he didn't want to in front of anyone—as if he thought it was a sign of weakness. I didn't comment, though. Everyone coped in different ways.

Matt's truck pulled up, and he waved at me. I waved back, laughing when I saw the tank top he was wearing had been a gag gift I'd given him a few years ago. Light blue and covered in bright yellow ducks, I was surprised it still fit him as well as it did. Judging from Bonnie's reaction when she was close enough, though, it might've fit him more like a mid-drift. Tipping an invisible hat at them before they drove off, I cleaned up the mess I'd made and ate my fill of strawberries.

My phone buzzed from its place by the stove, and I already knew it had to be either Jeremy or Stefan. It proved to be the former, and if the pressure behind my eyes was any indication, today was one of _those days._ I slouched against the countertop, relaxation leaking from me like a broken faucet, drip by drip.

It was ridiculous, how alone I felt. I hadn't let it get to me too much before, but my restraint was only so strong. There were moments I'd hear a certain song or eat a certain food and my senses were flooded with memories of people who weren't here. And I _tried_ —I tried looking them up to see if at least one person I knew back home, in my world, held some weight here. I hadn't been able to find anything, and I couldn't bear the thought of living in a world where no one I had met, no one who had touched my life so heavily, existed.

It was a dangerous bridge I was crossing, one I had been on before—an exceptionally bad experience and a belly full of regret what finally turned me away. Something I still hadn't forgiven myself for.

But this—this seemed to be the only way. I closed my eyes and felt whispers of my girlfriend's hands, gentle and warm, on my face or neck. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night with my mother's voice still echoing in my ears, or the chill of the night air from an open car window still blanketing my skin…or that one time I'd been so certain I'd seen my nephew across the street in the town square, alone and confused. If Caroline hadn't almost dislocated my shoulder from holding me back, then I would've ran right into traffic. I could still hear a car's blaring horn ringing in my skull as Caroline all but wrestled me back onto the sidewalk.

Self-medication wasn't the route I wanted to go down. I could deal with my problems well enough, but migraine after migraine, grimoire after grimoire, and session after session with Matt and my pent-up anger, revealed I wasn't as strong as I thought.

It had been almost a week since the last time Jeremy and I had spent time together, and if the blood under my nails this morning was any clue—it was getting to me. _Like an addict looking for another fix_ , my mind supplied, and I shuddered through my disgust. I answered Jeremy and swallowed down bile.

* * *

"Grams, I'm telling you, I just can't seem to get anything to work."

I could hear muttering over the phone and suddenly felt like a coward for not being able to face Sheila.

"And _I_ told you that you're just not in the right state of mind. You've been so negative since you started, complaining the second I put those spell books in your hands. Something like this takes time. You can't force it."

"Maybe my metaphorical magic wand is broken."

Sheila sighed, and I grimaced. She wasn't amused.

"Witches start learning magic at an early age, baby. They're able to become skilled in it with the right kind of determination. You and Bonnie, you've both been suppressing it, in a way. It's bound to overflow. You just have to make a crack in the foundation."

"Right," I drawled, still not any surer of how to proceed than I was ten minutes ago. "So how do I do that?"

"You're a witch, Sam. You come from a long line of witches. Your mother's father was also a witch, connecting you to another lineage. Do you understand what that means? Because from our conversations, it still sounds like you're doubtful of yourself, of your roots."

"I'm not," I said, the lie weak even to my ears. "I just…look, I have anxiety, and this is just how I function, okay? This is how I work. I need to— _have_ to—"

"I'll get you proof, if that's what you want. I have your mother's grimoire, as well as letters she'd written for you in those few months before her passing. She never wanted your magic to be a source of fear. I'll make sure it isn't."

I nodded, remembering only once a few seconds had passed that Sheila couldn't see me. The phone in my hand trembled.

"Okay," I whispered, willing the sting of tears away. "Okay, yeah."

"Don't you worry, honey. You aren't alone in this. You never were."

The call ended soon after that, and if I spent a good half hour curled up in a ball, crying my eyes out, then no one had to know.

* * *

"I was thinking, and…maybe we should plan something for Elena?"

Caroline stopped straightening her hair and eyed me from the reflection of her mirror, glossy lips pursed.

"Like what?" Bonnie asked first, zipping up the back of the dress she was trying on in one smooth motion.

"Like, a girl's night or something. Some good food, good movies." I smirked at Caroline then, "and some good booze."

" _Now_ you're talking." The blonde beamed, swiveling in her seat to properly look at us. "It's been a while since Elena's left her house, too. We should make it a sleepover, right? She needs a change of scenery."

"If there's going to be alcohol, then I think our place would be best." Bonnie scrunched her nose at her reflection, displeased. "This dress is too tight, Care."

"That's the point," Caroline laughed, but handed her another. "Try this one, it's more comfortable and the color will bring out your eyes."

"All right, our place it is. Care, you think you can handle dessert and decorations?"

"Do you even need to ask? I already have three different ideas in mind. What do you think about a colorful theme? Or should it be pastels?"

I smiled. "I'll leave that up to you. You're the expert, after all."

"What will we do?" Bonnie asked.

"We'll make dinner together, all of Elena's favorites. And you're in charge of the movies, Bon."

"Got it."

"I'll get the alcohol and pick up Elena. Leave her to me, I'll figure out how to spring the idea on her."

"Oh, this will be so much fun! She'll _love_ it," Caroline gushed, bouncing in her seat as she resumed straightening her hair.

Bonnie laughed softly and started to try on another dress. I allowed myself to smile and went back to painting my nails.

* * *

 **end author's notes:** _so sorry about the wait! but i think the break gave me plenty of time to figure out how i want this story to go. thanks again to my lovely girlfriend and beta, Isabel, for the endless encouragement and feedback. i promise you all next chapter will be better aha ~_


	10. Chapter 10

There was no preparing for the box Sheila had given me earlier that afternoon, housing the last and probably most important of my mom's belongings. I still stared at the picture frame that rested on my nightstand sometimes, half in awe that it was my _actual, biological_ mom—and not a stranger who'd taken the title from her—and half in anguish because she was _dead_.

The box had been a heavy weight in my arms, both literally and metaphorically; I couldn't seem to do anything but watch it from a corner of the room, as if waiting for it to make some move. When it was clear that the inanimate object would do no such thing, I wiped my clammy hands on the front of my jeans, frowning at my own inability to open a _box_ for _goodness sakes._

I tapped the side of it once with the tip of a nail, contemplative. Sheila had mentioned my mom leaving behind her grimoire for me, along with letters she had written to help ease me into magic. But the box was heavier than it should've been for just those few things and larger than I expected. There was something else inside that Sheila had failed to mention—or omitted on purpose—and the sheer amount of possibilities of what it could be clouded my mind, making it difficult to just take the cover off.

I didn't know what to brace myself for; I couldn't put up a shield or front for my emotions. I was going to have to experience this fully, no buffer or means of escape. I couldn't even convince myself that none of it was real. _That_ trick stopped working weeks ago. No. This was just me and a box of my mom's stuff. Just me and a sliver of a life I didn't fully remember, one that Sara kept locked up and away from my prying eyes. Mom was a touchy subject, even for her. And even if my mom had been different than hers, they were still similar in the ways that mattered. At least, that was what I hoped. Sighing, I framed the box's opposite sides with my hands, ignoring the not so subtle tremor of my wrists and twitching fingers. I lifted the lid.

At the top, neatly held in a stack by a metal clip, was a pile of envelopes slightly yellowed with age. Counting at least six, I moved them to the side. Just below it was a clear CD case, a plain white disk inside with _para mi amor_ scribbled on it in black sharpie. Next were two boxes, one marginally smaller than the other. I set them outside, close to the envelopes. Sheila had asked that I do one thing, and that was to read the envelopes first. I couldn't quench my curiosity, though—and it's not as if she warned me against looking around without opening anything. A book lay tucked against a corner of the box and below that a manila folder rested against a larger book. Looking at that second, large book, I pursed my lips in surprise. That explained the weight.

The envelope at the top, marked with a slanted "1" at the corner along with my name in cursive script, was still sealed. I didn't know why I expected it to be open already, but the fact that it wasn't—and _hadn't been_ since my mom's death almost a decade ago—made opening it that much harder. Biting my lip in response to the heat gathering at the corner of my eyes, I slid the knife I'd grabbed from the kitchen earlier under the flap and cleanly unsealed it.

It took me a moment to focus my eyes properly, the block of neat handwriting overwhelming. There were only two pages in this, but a quick glance at the rest of the stack proved they became progressively thicker. I took a deep breath and jumped right in.

 _Sam,_

 _I do not know the circumstances under which this letter finds you. Although I hope it is soon after my passing, as it may help you cope. Whatever it may be, you are reading this now and that is what matters. Sheila promised me she would make sure you received this, along with my other belongings. With any luck, you listened to her and are reading this first, before looking at the rest of my things. But I do not blame you if you did not. I wish to clarify any questions you may have regarding the contents of the box. I did not own many things that were of value to me, but everything you receive are those valuables. I'll explain each item, and hope you hold these things near and dear to your heart as I did._

 _The letters, of course, are my way of helping you adjust to your magic after my passing. After everything with your aunt Abby and her abandonment of her family, I became afraid of you learning your abilities. You deserved to enjoy your childhood without having to worry about learning Latin or memorizing spells. I planned to tell you once you turned 10, and hopefully have you channeling your power before you were a teenager, but things don't always go as planned. Whatever Sheila decided to do, I know it was for the best. You're here now, and that's what's important. Each letter handles a different aspect of witchcraft and guides you in areas that are always hard to grasp in the beginning. Read them in order and you'll be fine. Go at your own pace, and only open a new letter once you're finished with the last._

 _The CD I left you is one your father gave me when we were dating. It's a mixture of disco and oldies, and I'm sure you'll remember some of the songs. I used to play this CD all the time when you were little, while cleaning or relaxing around the apartment. Sometimes I thought that keeping this meant I still loved him, even after all that happened, even after he left. But the longer I kept it, the more its significance changed. It became_ our _CD, something we would listen to together, and suddenly it didn't matter that some songs made me think of your father. Because I'd look up from whatever I was doing, and you'd be right there: smiling, swinging your legs, or bobbing your head to the beat. Sometimes, when you'd be coloring or playing with your toys, you would hum the tune of a song, or sing the lyrics when you were bored. I thought you'd like to have it, so you could keep this small memory of me, of our time together._

 _The smaller box is my ring, one of the first expensive things I ever bought for myself and charmed with vervain, even though I knew witches cannot be compelled. It still made me feel better, and I wore it all the time. I'm not sure if it will fit you (your hands are so small now, it's hard to imagine them being my size one day) but do with it what you will. You can put it around a necklace or just keep it stored somewhere._

 _The larger box is a talisman. I don't know exactly what it looks like because at this current point in time it doesn't exist yet, but I will tell you what everything means. I found the spell required to create a talisman but altered it to link it more closely to myself, allowing you to channel my power and spirit, while doubling as a protection amulet. The main rock is amethyst, your birthstone. But it is not completely made up of that. In it are my ashes and a few drops of your blood, to bind us together. Below the amethyst rock will be diamonds, my birthstone. Sheila seemed confident in the task of preforming the spell herself, and I cannot doubt your grandmother's skill, so I am confident that everything will go as planned without a problem. I hope you like the final product. I designed the jewelry myself._

 _The book is my journal. It is filled up with not only our Bennett history, but also your grandfather's. You come from a mixed lineage, both strong and beautiful, with their own stories to tell and ancestors we are thankful for. You come from a mixture of races, all making up the person you are now. I wished to be able to tell you about it, about your father's background, your grandfather's, your ancestors and about the blood that runs through your veins. I cannot, but I have done my best to write everything I have found down for you._

 _The folder contains pictures of me when I was younger. Some are polaroids of me preforming spells with your grandmother or your aunt Abby, some of are you as a baby, and some are of you and me. I had hoped to put together a photo album, but never seemed to find the time. I'm sorry. The rest are drawings of mine, some of symbols and creations I had been experimenting with, a couple are portraits of family, the rest designs and landscapes. I am not particularly good with drawing, but I like to think they aren't completely terrible. I drew most of these while pregnant and in expectation of your birth. You would give me the most vivid dreams, as if you were trying to communicate with me._

 _The grimoire on top is mine. Only half is full of my own spells and concoctions, unfortunately, but I hope it is of some use to you. The letters will guide you in how to go about using my spells. The grimoire on the bottom is my gift to you. You need your own, filling it with whatever spells and ideas come to your mind. I had always imagined picking out something for you, us together, but I saw this a few weeks ago and thought of you. Do with it what you will. I have no doubts that you'd cover it from page to page with whatever you think up. You've always been a creative child._

 _You may feel overwhelmed after learning all of this, which is understandable. Take however long you may need; my letters will always be here, waiting for when you deem yourself ready. You have always had such an unwavering strength in you. It even got me through the toughest of times. I wished, hoped, and wanted to be by your side until old age and the natural elements took me away, but life is not always what we desire it to be. I understand that this is how the universe works, sometimes. I will always be with you—that much I am undeniably certain of. Even in death, I am with you. I love you._

 _~Mom_

My brain whirled, processing everything I had read and trying to push past the urge to breakdown. I blinked away the tears that blurred my vision, tucking the letter back into the envelope, careful to handle it gently. I could overlook the fact that my mom, in my universe, hadn't known English very well, because her manner of speaking still came across similarly enough. I wasn't sure what to touch first, what I could explore and investigate. The grimoire and book were too info heavy, the folder and CD too nostalgia-inducing, the talisman too personal. I pressed a shaky hand against the side of the desk, counting the seconds before every inhale and exhale.

I missed my mom. I missed my mom so _much_ , and maybe that had to do with Sara's feelings mingling with my own and intensifying the hurt. She was perked up, present, though in no way fully coherent. She didn't seem to have a clear path of what to do. Instead, she moved restlessly and added to the roar in the back of my mind.

 _Oh god, what's happening?_ she seemed to think, chanting the words almost religiously. _I don't know what to do, what do I do? Oh god, oh my god._

I lifted the small ring box, cupping it between my palms. This was my—her— _our_ —mother's ring. If there was one thing I could do, it was at least try it on. Sara appeared to agree, fingers sliding over the smooth cover and cracking it open reverently, her imagined and my literal breath held. A beat passed. Then two.

The ring was absolutely gorgeous.

The stone, gem, _whatever_ —was black, shiny and smooth to the touch. Attached to it was a silver band, thin and delicate-looking. It weighed practically nothing, but it still trembled in my palm. This was my mom's; she used to wear this all the time, and _she gave it to me._

I closed my fingers over it, hesitant, then dug a heel into the floor and steadied a breath. The ring slid easily onto my left ring finger. A bit _too easily_ , and once I released it, it slanted. The weight of the oval rock made it lean against my pinky. I gritted my teeth, removed it and tried my middle finger. The ring fit perfectly there, so snug and seamless that I allowed myself a few seconds to stare at it in wonder, body still to preserve the moment.

Sara cracked through at that moment, and I could feel hot tears sliding over my cheeks. Sniffling, I wiggled my fingers experimentally, wondering if the ring would disappear if I moved too much. Instead, the rock reflected the light of the overhead bulb mutely and humbly, ironically showcasing its simple beauty and lack of extravagance. My lips twitched as Sara attempted a smile, and I melted into it, laughing softly. We were gonna be all right.

* * *

"What do you usually drink?" I asked, feeling daunted by the extensive list of beverages. "Are you a coffee or tea person?"

Zach inclined his head toward me, eyes roaming over our options. "Both, actually. How about yourself?"

"I prefer tea. Coffee doesn't do much for me. I like the taste, but tea is better for me, so." I shrugged, shuffling forward a few steps as the line advanced.

"I was the same way, but once I went to college, it became a whole different story. I couldn't function without at least one cup of coffee in the morning, black. I broke the habit, but I still enjoy it occasionally."

"Fair enough. What're you thinking of getting?"

Stefan had guided me in how to act during Zach and I's practice run at the boarding house, pointing out how I fidget and other indicators of my discomfort and anxiety. Although I didn't do any of those things now, I became hyperaware of the situation, my body practically vibrating in anticipation of every movement I made.

"Since we're going to the library after this, I might just get an espresso."

"Iced coffee, for me," I said, deciding that simplicity was best.

The afternoon rush had quelled enough that Zach and I weren't caught up in any hustle and bustle. But that _did_ mean the streets were busy, so I couldn't keep an eye out for a certain raven-haired vampire that might've been lurking around. Admittedly, the chances of him being out here, watching us, were slim. Yet Zach and I played our roles, chatting just the right amount and creating an atmosphere of two friends—one a mentor almost, but both discussing their interests.

My drink tasted a tad too bitter and the sun was harsh and bright. But I kept up my end of the conversation and asked questions, soaking up what Zach would say like a sponge, hoping I came across as someone who was interested. Today had been a shot in the dark. None of us knew if Zach and I's spending time outside of the boarding house would affect how Damon perceived us—if he was even suspicious at all. We couldn't hide the fact that Stefan obviously lived in the boarding house now, his presence made aware to Zach around the time I began visiting for my "classes." The coincidence might've been enough for Damon to set his sights on us. I pretended I had no knowledge of Stefan at all, as if he would stay away when Zach and I would have our meetings.

Crossing the street, the library not far, I nodded to what Zach would say with appropriate enthusiasm, challenging his opinions and offering my own. The push and pull of our discussion distracted me enough from my thoughts, though I could still feel the tug of anxiety at the possibility of being watched.

"All right, what about the Civil War? I've had people brush over it in a lot of convos. They always focus on World War I or II," I scoffed, as if offended. "Personally, I think the Civil War is the most interesting."

Zach tipped his head, expression thoughtful. I smiled to myself, pleased. That hadn't been in the script but improvising with what I knew felt more genuine, and I wanted to shake the stiffness from my limbs. I took another sip of my drink and listened to Zach's opinions.

* * *

"I can't feel my legs," Bonnie complained, huffing and puffing in a way that would've been amusing if it wasn't for the slight wheeze at the end of each exhale.

"Lucky you. I can't feel _anything_." Jeremy leaned heavily onto a tree trunk, half-slumped and unsteady hands on his knees.

"I feel great," Matt laughed, dodging Bonnie's weak shove easily. "Sprints aren't all that bad."

Caroline, who had been smoothing down her ponytail and checking her watch, turned suddenly. "Says the guy who fell asleep in his chair when he was supposed to be recording our times."

" _Hey_ , it was only for, like, five minutes."

"You were snoring, Matt. You're lucky we didn't dump a water canister over you." Bonnie pointed an accusing finger at him. "Your only excuse is that you have a lot on your plate. One more word and you're doing drills, Donovan."

I snickered, handing a water bottle to Jeremy. "This tension will come in handy during the fight exercises."

"Oh _god_ ," Jeremy muttered, struggling to unscrew the cap. "This is pathetic."

"You're just tired, is all. Don't know why Matt thought it'd be a good idea to keep the workout schedule he has for me. I'm pretty sure he made a few changes, too. I could barely keep up toward the end, there."

Jeremy rolled his eyes as he took his first gulp of water, making an annoyed sound.

"—you're all reasonably athletic! I thought Sam gave you a heads up."

"You ain't pinning this on me." I used a tree as leverage to stretch my quads. "Care only has cheer practice, Bon has that and her job at the pool, and Jeremy only sometimes jogs. You're _terrible_."

"Come on, you were all holding up pretty good!"

I flicked the tip of Matt's shoulder. "Bonnie was almost hit by a car—"

"Okay, well, that was out of my—"

"—and Jeremy almost threw up at the end of the last speed interval."

"All right, fine. I messed up. I should've taken it easy on you guys." Matt sighed. "I guess you can take it out on me during training."

"I'm gonna kick your ass. You know, for training purposes." Jeremy smiled when Matt burst out laughing.

"Care looks the least fazed, we'll let her go first." I hopped a little in place, not wanting to let my body cool down too much. "We can't let our body temperatures return to normal. Have to stay warm."

Jeremy plucked at his shirt, grimacing at the way it stuck to his body. "I don't think I can sweat anymore."

"Don't say that," I chided. "Matt will take it as a challenge."

"I already have," Matt said, and everyone groaned in unison.

Jeremy wiped at his face with a towel. "I can't _believe_ I let you talk me into this."

"Trust me, the best part is the training. I've gotten better with my reflexes 'cause of it. Plus, Matt has these pads you can hit. Punching them feels awesome."

Jeremy and I picked up a light jog, mostly just to keep ourselves moving. "Well, let's hope it's worth the soreness I'm gonna feel in the morning."

"It'll definitely be." I smiled, watching as Matt and Caroline got set up in the driveway and as Bonnie did a few stretches. "Punching things is always great."

Jeremy snorted but nodded. Caroline loosened her arms and relaxed her shoulders, following Matt's directions. Soon the pair were sizing each other up, Matt helping Caroline with her form and movements; Jeremy watched, entranced. We'd stopped jogging, the sun beating down on us heavily, both of us still sweating.

"You can go next. Think I pulled something in my thigh," I said, not necessarily lying but not telling the truth either. I just needed to stretch properly, and the muscle there would stop twitching.

"Cool." Jeremy ducked his head, trying to play it off, but I could see the interest lighting up his eyes.

The anger Jeremy had been storing up needed an outlet—booze and weed not working anymore in easing the ache he must've still felt in his chest. He simmered whenever we'd hang out, practically bristling with aggression if he was in a bad mood. This would do him good, I hoped.

* * *

Every night, before bed, I read my mom's letter and let the information sink in my bones as if I were reading it for the first time. I cried a lot. Most of it was pent up frustration, some of it was grief, but a tiny hint of it was fear. I cried so much in that week than in probability all my teen years combined. The picture on my nightstand now faced me so I could fall asleep and wake to my mom's smiling face, lulling myself into believing that she was still alive, if only for a few seconds.

I knew now not to question why, or how, or even _what_ , because I was here, in this universe. Even if I gave up and didn't do anything to help, the world would continue spinning. I was as minuscule here as I was back home—just another person on a planet full of billions. Except…except I _had_ a purpose here. There was blood under my nails, bags forming under my eyes, when I could be taking advantage of the significance of my knowledge. I didn't have to be so infinitesimal; there were greater things out there that, with the right preparation, I could change for the better.

Taking one long, exaggerated breath, I let my muscles loosen up, hands laying palm up at my sides. Only after closing my eyes did I really focus, my attention zoned in acutely to the hum beneath my skin and the vibration in my veins. The sensation was faint—faint enough that on a few occasions I had convinced myself that I'd only been imagining it, and therefore any hint of my magical abilities was made fictive. But, I knew better now. I knew to concentrate on every single thud of my heart as it sung a similar tune to that of magic. One of my ears went deaf for a few seconds, and whether or not it was from my effort, I didn't know, but I whispered the Latin spell I'd been practicing for hours upon hours now; I wouldn't be surprised if it somehow engraved itself along the grooves of my tongue.

There was a trickle, some slight hedging, but nothing more. The power didn't flow past my core, simmering within itself in wait. I tried once more, hissing when the energy bubbled but stayed in place. My hands raised out in front of me from the tension in my arms, fingers rigid and cold compared to the heat at my center. I huffed a breath, licking my dry lips and repeating the spell. When my magic refused to move, I slammed a fist down onto the floor, shaking in disappointment. Surely, I couldn't be _this_ much of a failure? I had to be able to do something right. _Anything_.

Gritting my teeth, feeling my molars grinding against one another from the strain, I curled half into myself. I swore sharply into the curve of my arm. The beginnings of sweat started to prickle at the back of my neck, and I quickly pulled my hair into a ponytail, repeating the spell in my head like a mantra.

Rocking back and forth, a steady rhythm that gave my body something to do while my mind searched for a way to break through to my magic, I curled a hand around the ring on my left middle finger. There was a certain desperation in the touch, a need to be grounded, reassured, and maybe even saved. I thought of my mom, of her lovely face and kind eyes that always felt like _home_. I half-sobbed the spell, my chanting raising in volume the longer I lingered on memories of her, her laugh triggering a reaction I wasn't prepared for.

Something like a live wire of energy shot up my spine; my head flew back form the sheer force of it. Electricity crackled in my veins, heating up my blood. Every beat of my heart brought it further down my forearms, palms tingling so much I swore my entire body was pulsing. Stuttering on a breath, I opened my eyes.

The candles surrounding me were all lit, flames flickering gently. Raising my hands, the flames seemed to chase them, growing. Throat dry, I lowered them and watched, completely entranced, as they shrunk into small pinpricks of light. I choked out a laugh and then another. Soon, I was sitting in my circle, the laughter bubbling from my chest unhindered and free, the world feeling almost lighter.

"I'm a witch," I whispered, staring at my hands. "I'm a goddamn witch. Holy _shit_."

I clutched my left hand to my chest, reveling in cool press of my mom's ring to my skin. Looking over to the desk against the far wall, I eyed the stack of envelopes. Step one: completed. Time for step two.

I had to be the one to tell Bonnie about her magic, something I didn't fully understand _why_. On the show, it had been Sheila's responsibility. There had been only the minor issue of Bonnie not believing Sheila initially. She'd thought it was her drinking and old age talking—that is, until her powers had started to seep through her emotions, forcing her to accept it. I figured this time around I could give Sheila a few pointers on how to smoothly do the whole reveal; maybe I could even be there to help ease the news. Instead, Sheila told me _I_ had to tell Bonnie. Apparently, she'd believe me and not her. I'd been left on my own. Wonderful.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I had candles in a loose semi-circle around me and feathers in a pile by my knees. I had taken the time and care to prepare my room for today, making adequate space on the ground and setting up the materials I'd need. The knowledge and breakthrough of last night was still thrumming just below my skin, itching to be released. I wasn't that strong yet, but the release of total suppression let the floodgates loose and my hands trembled with the memory of _power_ and _energy_ that flowed through me.

The curtains were drawn tightly shut, the only light source being the lamp on my nightstand. I had given what I'd hoped was a reassuring smile to Bonnie as she tucked herself against the leg of my bed.

"So," I began, laying my hands flat against my thighs, "do you trust me?"

Instead of looking confused, Bonnie nodded. "Of course."

"I'm bad with words and explanations, and I didn't ask for this responsibility." I cracked a smile at Bonnie's laugh, but patted my thighs nervously. "But I'm gonna show you something, and I won't make you promise not to freak out or anything, I just want you to hear me out, okay?"

Bonnie eyed me warily, leaning forward despite her visible apprehension. "Is everything okay? What's going on?"

"You said you trust me," I said. "Let me show you."

"Okay," Bonnie drawled, watching me like a hawk, her sharp eyes trained on my every movement. "Go ahead."

Knowing that candles could be a hazard in case Bonnie didn't react so well, I opted for the white, fluffy feathers I'd plucked from the inside of one of my pillows. _Here goes nothing._

Raising a hand in the air, lips parted for a spell cast mentally, I allowed myself a moment to ease the anxiety tightening my chest before letting one feather float. Fascinated and slightly relaxing with pride, I moved my hand across in a slow arc, the feather trailing after it. It was only when I heard Bonnie's sudden intake of breath that I lowered my hand, feather falling into place in the pile.

"What…" Bonnie blinked once, twice, shook her head from side to side and started again. "What are you…"

She trailed off uncertainly. I took the opportunity to raise both hands this time, bringing with it a handful of feathers, slow enough not to startle Bonnie. I could barely make out her awed exhale from the rapid fire-beating of my heart, my fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Lowering my hands once more, I let my eyes meet hers. She looked at a loss for words, something I didn't blame her for. Swallowing thickly, I smiled past the fear of rejection, hoping I wasn't, didn't, _wouldn't_ do something wrong.

"Sam," she whispered, sounding breathless. I could see the wonder in her eyes, but there was also distress there. One of her hands clutched the end of my comforter. "How—?"

I gently pried Bonnie's hand off, using the solid warmth of her presence to ground me.

"Just watch," I said, cupping both her hands in mine. Our eyes locked.

I smiled then, watery and sweet, and with another silent spell the feathers were all around us, embracing her and I in the midst of it. I could feel rather than see Bonnie pull away, backing up until she was on her feet and leaning heavily against my bed. She made another surprised sound, turning in a full circle as the feathers curled around her, rising higher in the air in a makeshift dance.

"You…how are you doing this?" Bonnie caught a feather in her hand, transfixed by the sight of it floating back up to join the others.

"Magic," I said simply. "It's magic, Bon."

Bonnie's legs wobbled at my answer, causing her to slide back down to her original place with a soft _thud._ She seemed almost dazed.

"Magic?" she repeated, as if she could make sense of it by saying it herself.

"Yes. I'm a witch, Bon." I hesitated only briefly, watching as she stroked a feather mid-air with an expression of marvel so pure, my eyes stung. "And you are, too."

"Well, I'll be damned," she mumbled, pressing a hand to her chest almost subconsciously. "I'll be damned."

"I can show you more," I offered, letting the feathers float down into a pile away from the candles. "If you'd like, of course."

"Sure." Bonnie's eyes still looked slightly glazed over.

Doing the same movement with my hands, multiple flames flickered to life out of thin air. This time Bonnie jumped in response, breath catching in her throat.

"We come from a line of witches. Bennett witches, to be exact. Your mom is a witch, my mom was a witch, Grams is a witch, so was her mother, and so on and so forth. We are servants of nature, and we try to find a balance in what we worship." I wasn't sure if Bonnie was listening to me, but I spoke anyway because it gave me something else to focus on. "Grams kept our history from us to protect us, because there are other supernatural creatures out there who could cause us harm, but I had a vision a few months ago, and…since then, I've been seeing a lot of things. About the future. I told Sheila that I knew about witches, and she let me have some of my mom's stuff." I lowered my hands and let the flames become small around us. I pointed to the box sitting on my shelf. "My mom wrote a bunch of things for me in preparation for this moment, when I learned the truth. I don't know if it'll help, but you can read her letter to me if you'd like."

Bonnie was still staring at the candles, so I quickly extinguished them. She jerked back, huffing a quiet breath.

"It's okay," she said weakly. "That's yours. I-I honestly…this is a lot to process."

"I know, take all the time you need. I'll be here if you have any questions. I'm sorry I had to—"

"I believe you."

I stuttered. "W- _what_?"

"I believe you." Bonnie nudged a feather with her pinky, not meeting my eyes. "But I think I need to talk about this more with Grams here."

"Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll call her."

Bonnie nodded absently, but as I stood to grab my phone, she reached out and held onto my wrist.

"Thank you," she said, unsteady on her feet. "For telling me."

"No, thank _you_. For, you know, not freaking out on me."

Bonnie smiled, then. It was a small, barely-there twitch of her lips that, regardless, still lit up her face.

"Never," she whispered, mostly to herself, before pulling me into a hug. "Never."

* * *

 **end author's note:**

[translation]

 _para mi amor_ ~ for my love


	11. Chapter 11

**author's notes:** _sorry for the late update! will go into detail for that at the bottom._

 **chapter warnings:** _homophobic language. if you'd like to skip it, it's the eighth scene with Jeremy._

* * *

After Sheila confirmed what I had told Bonnie, the imaginary weight that'd been resting on my shoulders lessened, albeit only a small amount. There had been a lot of shouting, though none of it unkind. After Sheila had made the lights flicker, a gust of wind shoved open a few cabinets in her kitchen; I could still feel the subsequent relief that flooded my chest. I'd wanted to make a joke about a poltergeist stealing the spotlight, but Bonnie had become unsteady on her feet and had swayed into me. I held her up.

As I drove us home with a new batch of books for Bonnie (courtesy of Sheila) in the backseat, I'd been expecting silence, denial, or some sort of relatively expected human emotion to burst forth from her. But, I got nothing. Once home, Bonnie just cradled the books in her arms and sat in the living room, flipping idly through pages—as if, by staring hard enough, she could suddenly understand Latin. Sheila hadn't been too clear on how to proceed. She'd only said, _You'll know what to do, honey. You've always understood her better._ Which had been partly flattering, but mostly annoying.

"We need to find a way to channel your power," I said, voice low to keep the tranquil atmosphere. "I had trouble in the beginning, couldn't seem to make my magic work. My mom's letters helped. I think a part of me couldn't believe that I was a witch. Denial is a hell of a thing."

I was the least experienced person possible to do this. I could barely even hold a simple spell longer than 30 seconds. There had been a reason for Sheila not doing this herself, though, and I assumed it had to do with something Sara had gone through with Bonnie. I hadn't stuck around long enough to ask questions, and Sara seemed keen on molding herself to the farthest corner of my mind.

"I can show you a really simple spell. It's the one I used to make the feathers float." I forced my hands to be stable as I flipped through one of my books riddled with colorful sticky-notes. "You don't have to try it now, it's just…so you can have it. Whenever you're ready, just tell me."

Bonnie laid her hand on mine, and for just a second, I swore I felt my skin crackle where it touched hers. I blinked, brain muddled, and realized that Bonnie was reaching for the book in my lap.

"I think I'm ready now." She nodded to herself, patting the side of my leg to get my attention.

"We'll go at your pace." Bonnie set the book between her knees, eyes roaming over the foreign language. Her mouth was set in a stubborn jut that had me smiling despite the vast array of emotions swirling inside me.

"I've been having weird dreams," Bonnie began, voice faraway. "I thought it was just stress about junior year, my new job, worry for Elena—a combination of a bunch of things just affecting my dreams. But then I touched Elena's hand on accident. She was getting out of my car as I was putting the parking brake in place, and she'd been in a rush because something made her remember the night of the accident, and she was freaking out. I touched her hand, and I saw this—I saw a crow. Like, just sitting there." Catching my expression, she spoke quicker and fumbled over her words. "I think—I think it was a crow, or a raven. It was hard to tell because it disappeared so quickly, but it was some type of bird. I don't know what it could mean."

"Shit," I said, lips pressing into a thin line.

"Oh, I know that look." She jabbed a finger in my direction. "There's something you're not telling me."

I made a face at Bonnie. "After all you've learned today, you still want to know _more_?"

"I don't want to be kept in the dark, anymore. If you hadn't somehow figured out we were witches, then how long would it have taken Grams to tell us about it herself? I want the full story. All the good and the bad."

"How about we do this one step at a time? You haven't even used your magic, yet. How do you expect me to drop more bombshells on you?"

"I learn, you talk. Sound good?" Bonnie bargained, scooting forward and angling the book in her lap toward me.

"Yeah, sure, this _totally_ won't backfire on me somehow."

"If I didn't freak out when you showed me your magic, then I think I'm going to be all right."

"You did freak out, though. You should've seen your face."

"Do we have a deal, or not?"

I rolled my eyes, standing up with a huff and going to my room to grab some of the notes I'd written for Bonnie; they had to do with learning Latin. I wasn't sure how much help they'd be, but it'd be better than her learning like I did.

"Yeah, we got a deal." I dropped the stack of papers in front of her, sighing when she motioned for me to sit beside her. "Don't think the living room is the best place for this."

"Why?" Bonnie looked around us, as if she'd see something glaringly obvious as a reason.

"The curtains aren't closed properly and sitting here like this will hurt my back."

" _Someone's_ getting old."

"Ha ha," I deadpanned, piling books into my arms and walking into my room. "Just for that, you're not getting a pillow to lean against."

"Oh, the _horror_."

* * *

"Don't know if it worked, but I'm going to be optimistic and say it did _something_."

Stefan shrugged, looking over at the space Zach had left empty. "What else is there to discuss?"

"Well…I realized a few days ago that even if we do stop the tomb from being opened, we'd still have to deal with all the vampires that come into town."

"Do you have any idea how many?"

I shook my head. "No, but there's quite a few. So, look, here's basically what happens—"

"Zach will be back soon. I don't think now is a good time for you to give me a summary."

"I've been putting this off for weeks because we never _have_ any time alone to talk this out. You have no idea how stressful this is. If we don't figure out a solution quick, I'm going to spontaneously combust."

"That's not how that works."

"I hate you," I groaned, forehead thudding against the tabletop. "You weren't this annoying in my visions."

"Probably because you're here to make sure I'm at my utmost annoying. You're doing a fine job, it seems."

"You're not even funny." I flicked a pen at him. "You're terribly _unfunny_."

"I leave for a few minutes and you two have already started insulting one another. Productive," Zach said, setting down a stack of journals that made me groan again.

"We've been looking for weeks now. I don't think any of the journals here have the info we need."

"Giving up already?" Stefan teased.

"Even _you_ gotta admit this seems a bit fruitless. I remember it being in a journal, but it can be _any_ kind of journal. We could be doing more than just looking through the journals that're _here_."

"Sounds like you're giving up, to me."

"Stefan," I huffed, leaning back in my chair in frustration. "You can't seriously still think the journal we need is in the boarding house."

"What other options do we have? Until you can remember more details, this is the only lead we can follow. Making sure the tomb stays sealed is top priority."

"Yeah, but there's also everything that leads up to that, you know. And don't think I've forgotten our conversation, Zach." I raised an eyebrow at the older man, head tilting to the side. "We still gotta figure out where you're gonna go."

"Stefan and I already settled that." Zach folded his arms over his chest, the movement making him seem smaller, somehow. "We've come up with what I'm going to tell the council, and then I'll leave toward the end of August."

"Really? _Seriously_? And neither of you thought to possibly tell me this?" I made an incredulous gesture with my arms.

Stefan glanced at Zach. "I thought he'd already mentioned it to you."

" _Ugh_ ," I hissed, clutching at both sides of my head. "Well, I won't complain too much. Props to you for convincing him. I don't even want to imagine what that conversation was like."

"I've been trying to forget it all week."

"It's been a week and you're _barely_ mentioning this now—oh, _whatever_." I looked to the ceiling briefly, and then downward, grimacing all the while. "Okay, fine. Let's move on. Zach, there's some stuff I need to discuss with Stefan, and it's too risky to have you hear everything. We wouldn't want to paint a target on your back, or anything."

Zach looked between the two of us, frowning. "Just because I'm leaving doesn't mean you have to keep me out of the discussion."

"I'm not benching you, Zach. There's just the whole issue with you knowing too much too far into the future, and the last thing I want is for someone to find out and start hunting you." I ran a hand messily through my hair, forehead wrinkling. "We still have to find the compass, the grimoire, the Gilbert device thingy and figure out when it's best to sneak into the Lockwood mansion. All of which are important and are stressing me out. Progress on any of those would be a blessing."

Zach didn't look pleased at all but took the hint with a stiff nod of his head. "I'll see what I can do."

He left the room, and I waited until Stefan signaled that he was out of hearing range to speak. "So, summary time," I began, shifting in my seat. "You show up, meet Elena on the first day of junior year. Some sparks fly, or whatever, and the next day there's a bonfire in the woods. Damon attacks Vicki, and you freak out 'cause of the blood and leave. Later that night he comes to the boarding house and visits you. It's not exactly _heartwarming_. Damon starts to do this passive aggressive—but also _not_ passive aggressive—thing where he tries to expose you to the town. He hurts people in order to get you to crack. He somehow gets invited into Elena's house, some more drama happens—I can't really remember all the details—but at some point, you give her Katherine's necklace. Elena becomes suspicious of you because you heal in front of her, or something. Now, it's even more hazy, but I know a steady stream of vampires start to trickle into town once the comet passes. Damon's here to free Katherine from the tomb she isn't even trapped in, and other vampires want to release those who were trapped." I drummed my fingers against the tabletop, pausing to sort through the mess of scenes playing out in my mind. I didn't want to give Stefan some out-of-order recap. "They eventually kidnap Elena, others kind of just show up and try to integrate themselves into this place. We _cannot_ let them open the tomb, because that ends up killing Sheila and fucking over everyone in the end. Not to mention, once the tomb is open, it can't be sealed again, letting I-don't-know- _how_ many vampires out to roam freely. And trust me, they won't be happy." Stefan's eyebrows creased, expression brooding. "After that, they'll start planning this whole revenge scheme with the founder's council, since they're the reason they were placed into the tomb. I forget the exact details after that, but the council ends up using the Gilbert device I told you about to take down the vampires and werewolves that are in town for some meeting. They round 'em up in some basement and set it on fire. Lots of vampires die because of it."

Stefan lets out a long sigh, his shoulders slumped, and I half smile at him. "We're in over our heads, but I think we can do this. I don't remember everything, but at least my magic kicked in and I'm getting stronger by the day. We just gotta find a few things and we'll avoid a lot of shit."

"I'm worried about the vampires that come into town. How will we make them leave? Destroying the talisman and grimoire won't be enough. They'll be upset and want revenge."

I licked my lips and pressed my hands to the arms of the chair I was sitting in. "That's what we'll figure out."

* * *

"And yeah, that's the first vision I ever had," I finished lamely, running a nail along the seam of a book's cover.

Bonnie lowered her hands from where they had been raised above a row of candles, her lips pursed in a way that made her look like she was holding back a lot of questions. She quirked a brow at me, sighing through her nose. "You shouldn't have gone through that alone. I-I…I don't know what I could've done, but it could've been _something_."

"You already know why I didn't tell you anything," I said, shrugging half-heartedly. "No use worrying over that. I managed, then, and I'm happy that I can be honest with you now."

She leaned over the candles to give me an awkward hug, knocking over one in the process and stumbling a bit into the embrace. I laughed softly, Bonnie's hair lightly brushing along my cheek.

"I'm happy, too, even though you clearly haven't told me everything."

I grinned. "Not even close."

"Well I have work soon, so we're going to have to take a break. Promise me we'll continue this tomorrow?"

My expression softened at the warmth in Bonnie's eyes. "Of course."

* * *

"So," Stefan said, setting down a mug of tea in front of me and making himself comfortable in the chair across from mine, "can you tell me about Elena?"

"Smooth, Salvatore." I didn't look up from the interior map of the Lockwood mansion. "What do you wanna know?"

"How is she dealing with the death of her father?"

The genuine concern in Stefan's voice kept me from answering sarcastically. "She's seen better days, obviously. But her mom's presence is helping. She doesn't seem as wrecked as she'd been in my visions."

"Do you plan on telling her that she is adopted?"

The complete change in conversation made me sneak a peak at the vampire. "I'm not sure her hearing the information from me is the best idea," I paused. "You dug into Elena's background."

"You don't look surprised."

"Because I already knew." I wiggled my fingers in the general direction of my head. "Kind of psychic here, remember?"

He frowned to himself, lines on his forehead deepening. "She will find out eventually. Will breaking the news to her early on be a good decision?"

"I'll…when the right time comes, I'll bring it up to her mom. I don't think two months after her dad's death is a good time to mention it."

"I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me."

I smiled, tracing a random path along the top of the map. "No need. I'm glad you brought it up, it's something to add to the list."

I took a sip of tea and nudged the map between us.

* * *

I slowed the car to a stop along the sidewalk, gravel crunching under tires. The sun sunk below the horizon, tinting everything in pale orange light. I smirked at Elena over the roof of Bonnie's car, watching her haul a duffel bag over her shoulder and close the door with swing of her hips.

"Hold on, I gotta blindfold you before we go inside." I hitched the paper bag filled with alcohol and drinks higher up as I locked the car, taking off the scarf around my neck and skipping in front of Elena.

She gave me a questioning look, but her lips were curved into a smile. "Is this just a trick to kidnap me?"

I laughed as I wrapped the scarf around her head to the best of my ability with one hand, grinning when the brunette had to adjust it herself. "I guess you'll find out in a few minutes."

"That's not ominous at all." Elena huffed a breath, her smile soft and amused.

"C'mon," I encouraged, curling my hand around Elena's elbow to guide her. "Let's get inside before there are any witnesses."

A laugh bubbled out of Elena, her head shaking slightly before leaning into me and following my steps.

The door was unlocked, thankfully. I could hear a faint shuffling in the direction of the kitchen, my ears perking up when it suddenly went silent a few seconds after we stepped inside. Elena tensed beside me, one arm wrapping around her middle. I could see her throat constrict as she swallowed, and I laid a soothing hand between her shoulders, paper bag crinkling with my effort.

"You can take your blindfold off now." We stood at the entrance of the living room, Elena having at some point curled her fingers around my wrist.

She smiled in my general direction, reaching behind her head and untying the knot she made. The scarf fell away, revealing squinting, brown eyes and furrowed brows. It took Elena a moment to adjust to the different lighting, but then her jaw went slack, and the scarf slipped through her grasp, fluttering to the floor.

"Oh," she said, dumbstruck.

The living room was bright with decorations and rearranged so drastically that I momentarily forgot we were in Bonnie's house. I took in the paper lanterns and streamers, the string of small lights and what looked like glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. Caroline and Bonnie stood beside the most massive blanket fort I've ever seen, the faint illumination from inside suggesting there were more lights strung up, their arms outstretched and colorful party hats sitting on their heads.

Tearing my eyes away from the room, I raised my arms above my head and shouted, " _Surprise_!" simultaneously with Bonnie and Caroline, who came forward and crowded the still-frozen Elena into a group hug. Someone—Caroline, I suspected—plopped a matching party hat onto Elena's head, and I pulled away only when the bag in my hands started to tip over.

"I-I don't even know what to say." Elena looked awed, hand covering her mouth as her eyes glittered like diamonds. "You did this all—for me?"

Bonnie's expression was gentle as she cupped the side of Elena's face. "Of course. You deserved a girl's night and what better way than with lots of food," she pointed to a table behind us that I hadn't noticed, "lots of movies," she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at what I assumed was the general direction of the television, "and booze."

I snorted as Caroline pulled out the bottle of vodka from my bag, holding it up triumphantly. "We got your favorite, too!"

Elena gave us all a watery smile, laughing in such a way that her head tossed back and her shoulders shook. She looked more relaxed now than I'd seen her in months. "I love you guys," she said, wiping at her eyes and pulling us all back into another hug. "Thank you."

"We love you, 'Lena." Bonnie's own eyes looked suspiciously shiny. "We love you a lot."

"Okay, okay." Caroline wriggled her way out of what was sure to be a group crying session. "We can't cry this early, we haven't even had any pie yet!"

"I agree. It's too early for this." I set the bag down, grabbing a cookie off a tray. "Let's wait until we're properly smashed and too full to move—"

"And we're watching some sappy romance movie and huddled inside our fort," Caroline finished, beaming.

" _Deal_ ," Elena said, accepting the plate Bonnie handed her with a happy giggle. "Now, where's the music?"

* * *

"You're _what_?" Bonnie practically yelled.

"You said you wouldn't freak out!"

"I said I'd _try_ , not that I wouldn't." She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing. "Tell me I heard you wrong."

I scowled. "You heard right."

Bonnie rubbed a hand along her temple, groaning. "I don't even know what to think about this."

"Your brain's probably fried from all the practice."

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Look," I huffed, accidentally scattering a few sheets of paper with my hand. "I know what I'm doing. I can see the future, remember? I've got some cards up my sleeve." I leaned forward and grasped Bonnie by the shoulders. "Yes, he's a vampire. Yes, he's dangerous. _But_ , I trust him. I really do. I'm not asking you to trust him too, I'm asking you to trust _me_."

Bonnie sagged under my hands. "I _do_ trust you! I just—can you really be so sure he won't hurt you?"

"Nothing's certain, and I don't mean that to sound scary or anything. But I won't make a promise I don't know I'll be able to keep. What I will say is that as of now, as of what I've seen, I'm sure. He has no intention of hurting me."

She chewed on her lip, and I could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

"I trust your judgement," she said, finally. "So I'll try to…I'll try to be understanding."

"It's not every day your cousin tells you that she's been conspiring with a vampire to save the town she grew up in."

"Honestly, after finding out I'm a witch this doesn't even seem that improbable."

"You're totally going to freak out about this later, aren't you?"

Bonnie sighed. "Yeah, I am."

"Well, count me in. I'd never pass up the opportunity for a bout of good ol' fashioned hysteria."

She laughed, nose wrinkling in amusement. "That's comforting."

* * *

"You told her about me?" Stefan asked.

"What, did you expect to be my dirty little secret or something?"

"Partly." The corners of his lips twitched. "How did she take it?"

"Her initial reaction was acceptance, but, like, two hours later she flipped out and I had to stay up half the night telling her all about vampires and trying to calm her down."

"How is she now?"

I smiled crookedly. "She's intrigued. Wants to meet you, but I told her she'd have to wait until school starts."

"Have you told her about everything else?" He twirled a pen between his fingers, assessing me.

"I'm getting there. There's a lot to tell, you know."

He pursed his lips. "Do you think she can handle it?"

"I know she can." I rapped my knuckles against the tabletop. "She's strong, stronger than most people. And she has this air of—this sort of no-nonsense attitude. Bennett blood runs through her veins, and it shines through."

"Well, then, I can't wait to meet her."

* * *

"It's hot," I complained, shielding my eyes from the glaring sun.

Jeremy laughed. "I can tell, Captain Obvious."

"Wow, original comeback."

He shoved at my shoulder, rolling his eyes in such a classic teen way that I had to stop myself from mimicking him. "This was dumb. We should've just stayed inside. It's, like, a hundred degrees out."

"We barely even go out as it is. Just 'cause it's hot doesn't mean we should never leave the house."

"You're wrong. It means _exactly_ that."

I wiped my palms on the sides of my shorts. "We should've came prepared, is all. Quit whining."

Jeremy took a long sip of his lemonade, shifting closer to me under the tree. "You're hogging all the shade."

I shoved him away with my elbow, glaring. "Can you not. It's hot enough already without you sweating all over me."

" _You're_ the sweaty one here."

"Come up with better insults."

Jeremy pushed his way into my spot, one leg over both of mine and his stomach pressing into my arm. "Come up with better hang out ideas."

I squirmed uselessly. "We're both broke and it's summer. What did you expect?"

"Not the park. And you called _me_ unoriginal."

A slight sheen of sweat coated my face, shirt sticking in some places. I hissed and tried to knock Jeremy off. "You're giving me a stroke here."

Jeremy drank obnoxiously loud, slurping right into my ear. Somewhere, I distantly realized how childish we were being. Other people were having picnics or eating ice cream, and here we were, two teenagers, half-wrestling under a tree and shooting lame insults at one another.

"Wait— _ow_." My shoulder blade was digging into a tree root, and Jeremy somehow wedged me against the trunk with his leg so I couldn't wriggle free. " _Okay_! Okay, I admit that this was a stupid—"

Someone cleared their throat, and it took me a few seconds to realize it hadn't been Jeremy. He froze above me, head whipping toward the person a few feet from us. I squinted, the sun preventing me from seeing anything besides someone's short hair and a broad build.

"Shit," Jeremy whispered sharply, throat flexing as he swallowed tightly. "It's Tyler."

I blinked once, twice. Jeremy's weight was suddenly off me and he hauled me up, expression pinched. I could feel grass strands in my hair and dirt under my nails. Jeremy's bottle of lemonade was pitched over, by his bag. A frown settled on my lips before I could really stop it.

"Tyler—?" I hesitated, unsure of what to do even though he had approached us.

"What the fuck did you tell Vicki?"

The sun was blocked, and all I could see was Tyler's chest— _when had he moved?_ —and then his face, dark and heavy and hovering above mine.

"Uh…" I trailed off, mind drawing up blank. I could hear a child laughing somewhere to my right, a light breeze ruffling my hair. I licked my lips, throat dry. "How did you know I was here?"

It was a valid question, in my opinion. Except it made Tyler take another step toward me, and only then did I notice the coldness to his eyes and the tension lining his shoulders. I tipped my head further back, wanting to keep him in my line of vision, pulse hitching at his proximity.

"Why did you do it? You have the hots for her?" He crowded me until I felt the tree root under my foot, and I forced myself to stay in place. Backing up showed submission. Showed fear. "Thought you could get into her pants, huh? Are you that desperate? Fucking disgusting."

Jeremy's fingers curled around my wrist, and Tyler bristled at the movement. "Back off, Gilbert. This doesn't involve you."

"It does. You're the one who needs to _back off_. No one invited you here."

For a second, I felt ridiculously proud at Jeremy's lack of fear. His stare was direct and his hands were clenched. I wondered if it was a good time to fist bump him.

But then Tyler shoved me back, causing me to trip and fall against the tree trunk, bark cutting through my thin shirt. "Whoa, hey," I managed, steadying myself. "The hell?"

"I told you to leave it alone, Sam." He jabbed a finger into my chest, rough and piercing. "Vicki started talking about relationships and the future and when she broke things off with me, told me _you_ had told her to stay away from me." I dug my fingers into the bark for leverage, breath shaky. "Now answer me—what the _fuck_ did you do that for?"

Jeremy gripped his arm. "Tyler, I swear to God—"

My hand shot out, yanking Tyler away from Jeremy, nails biting into his skin. "Hey, hey hey!" I shouted, wanting to direct his attention back to me. "You were doing more harm than good, you idiot. Encouraging her drug use, making her think you were in a relationship when you know damn well you've cheated on her more times than either of us can count. I don't understand why the hell you're mad at me when what _you_ were doing was disgusting."

"You had nothing to do with it. There was no way you could've known about it. Which means there's another reason."

"There _wasn't_! She's family, Matt's sister. I want her to get out of this town and not drown in her addiction."

"No," Tyler hissed, anger rolling off him in waves. "You haven't spoken to her since word got out that you're a fucking dyke. So, what's the real reason, huh? Do you like Vicki or did you just want a replacement for Sophie?" I gasped, Tyler's arm coming up to press at my windpipe. "But Vicki's not into chicks, and now you put all that work in for nothing."

I clawed at Tyler, still able to breath but suddenly afraid. I could hear Jeremy speaking over the roar of blood rushing in my ears, probably trying to talk Tyler down or get him off me. Sara all but flattened herself, an almost nonexistent speck at the back of my mind. I tried remembering Matt's training, the various ways he showed me how to break out of a chokehold, but my fingers were trembling too much. I couldn't seem to move.

"I told you if you didn't let this go, I'd have to bring up the past again." He pressed tighter against my neck, ignoring my choked breathing. "You're a _freak_ , Sam," he spit out. "A disgusting faggot who likes to wear men's clothes."

The pressure abruptly left, the weight disappearing immediately, leaving me to slump to the side and suck in mouthfuls of air. My wrist hurt from the fall, blood caking my palm and t-shirt.

Tyler was on the ground, Jeremy on top of him, and I barely registered the fact that his fist was pulling back—the other tangled in Tyler's shirt.

"Jer, no!" I rushed to my feet, knocking Jeremy off hard enough to bruise my knees. I could feel the tears on my cheeks, sliding down hot and unbidden. Blood was smeared on Jeremy's jeans. "Don't! It's okay, it's okay. Just let him go—"

Tyler stood then, and I pushed in front of Jeremy, blocking the punch he threw instinctually. My bones rattled with the force behind it. I feigned left twice, tasting dirt when I slammed into his right, Matt's voice instructing me all the while.

"Stand down! Stand down you goddamn _idiot_." I kicked the back of his knee, twisting his arm behind his back at the same time. "I'm not going to fight you—so _stop_."

"Bitch," Tyler growled, and I let him worm his way out of my hold. "You have no idea what you're—"

"Shut up!" I said, clutching a hand to my chest. "Shut. _Up_. I don't care what you have to say. You're just—" my breathing hitched, "you're just a bully."

I stumbled backward, Jeremy holding me up. "Stay the fuck away from her," he gritted out, breathing heavily.

"You're gonna regret this," Tyler taunted, watching us as we picked up our things. "Junior year will be hell for you."

"Trust me," I muttered, lip curling, "it'll be hell for all of us."

I ignored the crowd of staring adults and tugged Jeremy along, keeping my eyes down. He didn't take his eyes off Tyler until we crossed the street.

* * *

 **end author's notes:** _all right, so. i think i'm going to stop doing the weekly wednesday updates. i've noticed that i'm not always publishing a chapter i'm proud of just for the sake of not missing an upload and... i'd much rather upload something i like rather than apologizing for it not being up to my standard. that's why some chapters are good, and some fall flat. y'all don't deserve to go through that whiplash. so, that being said, i'll upload when i am satisfied with a chapter! which means they'll be longer and more content heavy. there's really only two chapters left before i plan on starting season one, and i want to do right by you guys! which means actual good writing and good plot. i'm sorry it's taken me so long to realize this, and so many chapters have already been affected. anyway, i hope you've all been doing great! thank you for sticking by me as i feel my way around for what fits._

 _as always, if you have a question or just wanna chat, my tumblr's in my bio so *shrugs* (that was not so subtle self-promotion. i'm terrible). it's also a good way of checking that i haven't died or something. but then again my queue is backed up for like a month. i'm rambling, i should really stop aha. so yeah-i'm excited to take my time and make y'all (and myself) proud. thank you ~_


	12. Chapter 12

Once I found out why people didn't like her, Sara began to pull herself forward, no longer afraid. Making Jeremy talk hadn't been hard, but what he'd said was the last thing I expected. Yeah, I, Sara— _we_ —weren't straight. Big deal. Yeah, we liked wearing men's clothing sometimes. So _what_? But it had been the reveal of the disaster that was her freshman and sophomore year that made me suddenly understand everything that'd been going on since I woke up here.

Jeremy hadn't given me every detail, but Sara, practically summoned by the mere mention of her past, let me access enough of her memories to see for myself. She gave no hint that she'd been aware of what she'd been doing, but I understood the sentiment for what it was.

Her freshman year, Sara befriended a girl named Sophie; she'd only been living in town for a few months. Sophie was short, round-faced, and had the most contagious laugh. Her family was of deep religious faith, her father related to Pastor Young. She always wore a soft honey-colored rosary around her neck and dressed in prim and proper clothing. She was lovely, incredibly kind, and very, _very_ gay.

She kissed Sara in her room on a Tuesday night, a faint brush of lips that had her entire body buzzing with energy. She tasted like her chapstick and the mint she'd popped passed her lips minutes before theirs met. She'd been so floored that she could only stare at Sophie, slack-jawed and blushing, moments before leaning forward and cupping her face in both of her hands. Sophie clutched her rosary the entire time.

At first, I hadn't understood why this was a problem. As I watched her memories play out, I couldn't make sense of the tension worrying Sara—aside from Sophie's religious background and family, that is. It was only until she reluctantly gave me a quick summary of _further_ into the past that everything clicked into place. Sara was in love with Caroline.

It was an old, gradual thing that did not fully register in Sara's mind until she was about nine years old. She realized the warmth she felt in her chest, the ache that settled in her bones whenever Caroline looked at her, wasn't just friendly affection. It went deeper than that, wrapped around her heart and soul and made her vibrate with the need to _be close_ and _spend time with her_. Sara's first love—she was her _best friend_ , and she was a _girl_. No girls at school liked other girls, and no boys liked other boys. Why did she?

Years passed, and Sara never told a soul, not wanting to compromise her friendship with Caroline and not wanting to possibly lose her best friend. But her feelings grew and became a heavy weight on her chest, tight with anxiety and hot with longing. Sara loved Caroline so much, it physically hurt. She loved Caroline so much, that, when Sophie kissed her, she'd hesitated because she'd been unsure of how to proceed. Sara knew that Caroline could never be with her, but that did not stop the kiss from burning as if she'd betrayed the blonde.

Sara knew it was wrong, but she kissed Sophie back with her eyes squeezed shut and imagination running wild. She couldn't be with Caroline, but she could pretend. Sophie's hair was the wrong texture. Her lips were too full, and her jaw was different, also, but Sara still saw blue eyes behind her closed lids—still smelled floral perfume.

A wordless agreement between Sara and Sophie cemented; they continued seeing each other. They met in hidden spaces and dark corners, and convinced Sophie's parents to let her do homework at Sara's house so they wouldn't have to worry about someone knocking or opening the door and catching them. Sophie kissed like she spoke, gentle and precise, one hand always curled around Sara's wrist and the other clutching her rosary against her chest.

She was, in fact, very gay. She told Sara this herself, whispered it in her ear so reverently, like a prayer. But she didn't use the term "gay," exactly. She opted on the one her parents mentioned in passing to her. _I'm homosexual_ , she'd breathed, breath tickling Sara's cheek. _My father says homosexuals are an abomination._

 _Your father's wrong_ , Sara had replied, all serious. _Love is love. There're people out there who go to church every Sunday and say they believe in God but turn around and spread hate so fast. You and me_? _We're human. We aren't hurting anybody._

Countless afternoons were spent like that, wrapped around one another, discussing religion and God and her family. _They wouldn't accept me. I heard from my uncle down south that they have this therapy that can make you heterosexual. They'd just send me to get fixed._

 _Do you think that's real?_ Sara had asked, their hands clasped. _Do you think being attracted to the same sex is something that can be fixed?_

Sophie had tightened her hold on her, the other hand still gripping her rosary. _I want to say no, but my uncle says it works. And, I'm not stupid. I've tried to like boys. I've watched so many movies and read books and looked through magazines and even kissed a boy on the cheek, once. I felt nothing. I tried, but there's_ nothing _. But, when I look at you…when I touch you, when you touch me, when we're in the same room together—it's everything._ She'd rolled over, nails lightly scratching the soft skin of Sara's jaw. _If what my uncle says is true, if it does work, then I don't think it's normal. Instead of fixing people, they're breaking them. And that scares me the most._

 _Just wait,_ Sara'd promised. _Wait until you can leave home. You'll get to be yourself, soon._

And it had worked, for a few months. Around Sophie's family, Sara tried her best to be a regular girl by wearing her most feminine clothes and remembering to sit like a lady. They didn't spend a lot of time together while in school, partly to avoid suspicion, but mostly because people already looked at Sara weirdly for how she dressed. She didn't want to drag Sophie into it.

Every touch and kiss felt like a lie, but Sara couldn't seem to stop. Sophie gave herself over so freely, affectionate and sweet and undeniably tender. Sara drank it in like she'd been stumbling through the desert for weeks, hungry, aching, and a little desperate. In her darkened room, sometimes her lips got swollen by kisses, her skin flushed and eyes bright; she could almost convince herself Caroline was _really_ there. It always hurt when she remembered it was a different girl in her arms, and she was overwhelmed with shame and disappointment. She was a terrible person, especially for leading Sophie on.

 _I don't know what love is supposed to feel like,_ Sophie had spoken one afternoon between kisses, forehead creased and breath unsteady. _But you're the closest thing that feels like home._

It was a hot, stuffy school day when it all came crashing down. It was Sophie's birthday. Sara had gotten her a silver bracelet in a small box as a present and put together a simple but direct hand-written letter to go with it. She'd brought them to school because Sophie was leaving for the weekend to visit family a few towns over, and Sara wanted her to have them before she left. A few kids at school had started to bully her, but it was nothing too serious; they usually left her alone because of Bonnie, Matt, Caroline or Jeremy. That day, though, Bonnie and Caroline were trying out for the cheerleading team, Matt was at home, sick with the flu, and Jeremy had gotten in trouble with a teacher and had to stay after class.

Sara had opened her locker, only to have it slammed closed on her fingers as she was pulling books out. Three boys crowded around her, one of them shoving her back into the lockers roughly. She didn't know what to do. Her backpack was slipping off her shoulder, half-open, and papers and notebooks clattered to the floor messily.

 _Hey, Samantha,_ the tallest one mocked, his face an awful sneer. _You know boy's clothes are for_ boys _, right? It's why they're called "boy's clothes."_ The one holding Sara against the locker snickered, fisting a hand in the material of the loose shirt she wore—it was one of her favorites: the first article of men's clothing she'd ever bought for herself. The third boy, who had been standing to the side quietly, suddenly kicked her leg, hissing, _She's even wearing guys' pants. Freak._

Sara struggled against their hold, but they didn't let up—not until her shirt sleeve was torn and her cheeks were soaked in tears. Her body slumped on the floor, surrounded by the innards of her backpack.

 _Leave me alone,_ she begged. _Please. Just leave me alone._

One of them noticed the box on the floor, though, nicely wrapped with a pretty white bow. She stopped breathing.

The memory blurred from there on, Sara's recollection filled with lots of fighting and screaming and a bloody nose. They'd taken it, read what had been inside, and soon the news spread. Sara went from being the weird girl who sometimes-dressed-like-a-boy to being the weird girl who sometimes-dressed-like-a-boy _and_ liked other girls. But, not just any girl—Sophie Young.

She didn't get to see Sophie before her parents found out. She didn't get to see Sophie _at all_ , after that. It didn't matter that the letter was vague enough that it could be considered a one-sided love confession, thus clearing Sophie's name; it could have just rendered their "friendship" null and void. If only Sophie's father hadn't confronted her the week after that—at school, nonetheless—and demanded that the principle allow him to speak to Sara's guardian. Rudy was away at work, so Sheila had to come in. Sara could feel his stare burning into her back and his judgment seeping into her soul.

Sheila had taken one look at Sara, her sharp eyes then focusing on Sophie's father, and all hell broke loose. Sophie's father was convinced she'd brainwashed his daughter, accusing her of being a follower of Satan and manipulating his family. Sheila had defended Sara hotly, going toe-to-toe with him, her sure and steady voice cutting through his like a knife to warm butter.

In the end, he had left in a rage, and Sara never saw Sophie again. But rumors spread—nasty, terrible rumors that she tried to ignore but felt piercing through her chest whenever she heard them whispered in the halls every time she would pass.

 _Did you hear that Sophie Young lives in a psych ward now?_

 _Her family moved to get her help, but Michelle told me that she tried to run away._

 _She's in therapy now. April Young says she won't ever be coming back._

 _I think she made Sophie sick like she is. She's tried to kill herself like twice already._

Sara outed Sophie in the worst way possible, and the whole school knew it. They taunted and pushed her around when teachers weren't looking. At one point, someone had even taped a picture of Sophie's face to her locker door with crude drawings made in red sharpie over it. She thought summer break would make people forget, but it only gave them time to stew in their disgust.

Sophomore year started off with bruised ribs and bloody knuckles. They'd told her that if she just took it without complaint, then they'd leave her alone. Just a little more hazing, just a little more scraped skin and torn lips. Tyler, who had been a friend of Sara's up until she started wearing men's clothes, and Vicki, his girlfriend, were there sometimes. Sometimes watching, sometimes directing. She took the pain in silence, until she'd realized that it wasn't ever going to stop.

Jeremy swore revenge until he was blue in the face and tried to stay by Sara's side at all times; Matt did his best to teach her how to defend herself and patch her up; Elena made a point to let everyone know they were friends and wore LGBT+ things in support; Bonnie would hold her at night, let her cry into her pajama shirt and sleep in her bed, always soothing and always understanding.

And _Caroline_ —well, Caroline spoke to the principle about Sara's treatment and tracked down everyone who'd ever laid a hand on her. Caroline didn't look at her differently, didn't have any underlying disgust in her eyes or hesitation in her actions when dealing with her. She'd comforted Sara as easily as she'd comforted her before the incident, open and kind and reassuring. It only made Sara feel worse. This was the type of affection she'd been craving _for years_. It took Sophie's ruin to get it.

Six months later, I popped up in this universe, taking Sara's place and sharing a headspace with her. She had the same name and same mom, similar tastes and hobbies—but she was not me, and I was not her.

Jeremy had cleaned out the cut on my hand, the alcohol's sting enough to make me grind my teeth together before he let me sit and think. He probably thought I was going over the events of that afternoon, trying to figure out how to go about Tyler's threat. But I processed everything Jeremy told me, and the memories Sara let me see. I understood Sara's reactions toward Caroline now, the lingering looks and feelings of tranquility. I also understood why people avoided me, why there were faint silvery scars on my knuckles, and why I picked up self-defense quicker than I'd been expecting. I'd already been trained.

Sara relaxed for the first time in months, easing out of her corner and melting like putty along the grooves and wrinkles of my mind. If she could sigh, I think she would.

Me, on the other hand—I stayed up half the night; Sophie's face, her touch, the color of her eyes, lingering in every blink. I sometimes tasted blood and felt my bones rattle, too, as if I were being roughened up by a ghost or something. The world seemed a little grayer that night.

* * *

Anxiety was nothing new to me. I'd learned to live with it at a young age, my tics only abnormal to me if someone pointed them out. My friends back home understood my need to press my fingers to my pulse point and count every beat of my heart, the need to repeat certain actions until the worry at the back of my mind dulled enough to ignore. The heat was familiar, the way it flushed my entire body, or crawled up the back of my neck and made it hard to breathe. But no matter how bad it got, no matter how I always had to depend on sunglasses, earphones and a stick of gum to leave the house, it wasn't anything I wasn't used to.

But this, the sensation of ants creeping up my spine and deep paranoia, were different. It was as if I could physically feel someone watching me, skin tingling and gut churning. I got caught in cold sweats, worse than my condition usually made them, my hands trembling and chest tight. I blamed the intensity of the Virginia heat aggravating my hyperhidrosis; but, sometimes, I saw shadows in my peripheral vision or thought I caught sight of a dark clothed figure across the street.

I didn't mention anything to Stefan, instead, I focused on the retrieval of the talisman and moonstone. Our plan was flushing out nicely, and despite my constant paranoia, I knew I couldn't let my mind fog up for this.

To take my mind off things, I read the second letter in my mom's box. It was mostly the basics of magic, tips on how to channel it if I was having trouble doing so, and which spells in her grimoire were preliminary. I stroked a finger along the edge of the box that held my mom's necklace but left it alone.

* * *

I avoided everyone, for a few days. Except for Bonnie and Matt, the former who I lived with and the latter who trained me every afternoon between shifts. Sara was beginning to let me access more and more of her memories, usually when I was sleeping, and I woke up disoriented and nauseous every morning. Sometimes there was the faint, barely-there taste of cherry chapstick on my lips or phantom bruises on my ribs. Once or twice, my tongue was heavy with imaginary alcohol or weed, fingers twitching and throat dry. Sara had been a heavy user before I showed up, slowing down a bit once the bullying eased, and my picking it up again had triggered her cravings full force.

I asked Matt to increase my workouts, the intensity of them enough to make my muscles jelly and body ache in that blissful state between satisfied and pained. A few times, while training, Matt would throw punches randomly to keep me on my toes, and on a few occasions—for a _split_ second—it wasn't him towering over me, but nameless faces from school. I had to stop myself from either flinching back and taking off or hurting Matt from the swell of unbridled, red rage that tinted the edges of my vision.

The more time that passed, the more and more the body I was in felt as if it wasn't mine. Looking in the mirror still made my breath catch, my reflection still off-putting, but it was more than that. It felt almost as if I was borrowing this body, Sara on stand-by as I got stuff done—and she'd just take over once I was done and…who knows what would happen after that.

To pass the time, I finished the distribution of vervain to my friends and planted the seeds Zach had given me weeks ago in a window box. Instead of letting it hang outside my window, I put it inside, still in the path of direct sunlight but within the safety of the house. I sorted through the box of jewelry Stefan had given me with vervain enchantments, figuring out which I would give to my friends. I'd made a few specific requests, but didn't want to take advantage of Stefan's generosity, leaving most of the design up to him.

A thin, leather bracelet with a quarter sized metal "medallion" (I had no idea what to call it, except it reminded me of a coin with some roman numerals and a design in the center) was perfect for Jeremy. There was a similar looking one in the small pile, except the strap was a little wider and held a dark blue stone in the center—and I knew immediately it was for Matt. A silver and hollow heart-shaped necklace was next, the inside filled with vervain leaves, and I could already picture it around Caroline's neck. There were a few other pieces, extras in case I needed to give someone else one, or if one was lost and had to be replaced. I hid them under my bed, knowing Bonnie couldn't be compelled and Elena would soon be given her own necklace by Stefan. The vervain I had given her would be enough protection in the meantime.

Sipping at the tea I had made (with vervain, of course), I shut myself away in my room and gave Sara the green light to let me see more of her memories. As my vision faded and Sara took control, I wondered if it was stupid of me to still hold out hope of returning home. Maybe it was, but some days it felt like all I had.

* * *

Bonnie took to magic wonderfully, the awe in her eyes and excitement enough to keep me going. Soon we were at the same level, our rooms littered in spell books and random ingredients. Sheila was a big help, although I still used my mom's letters to guide me. I started practicing potion brewing and doing my reading on telekinesis, pain inflection, the works. Elemental control caught my eye, though I doubted I'd be able to actually do anything seriously with it anytime soon. Divination hit a little too close to home, but none of what I read—clairvoyance, intuition, premonitions, or psychometry—fit with what I could do. To be fair, I was probably a unique case. I couldn't see the future, not really. I just had insider knowledge on what would happen.

Sometimes I wondered if that would ever come to bite me in the ass. Once I changed something big, like the tomb not opening or hiding the moonstone so no one could find it, what would happen? People would expect me to still know what was going to go down, but I would no longer be useful. Maybe that was the point, though. Maybe that was what I had to do to go home. No point in staying here if I couldn't do anything, right?

* * *

I had been in this world for a few months now, my daily routine and slight act second nature to me now. Sometimes there were moments when I'd look up from something I'd been doing, words on the tip of my tongue, and my eyes would focus on Matt, Caroline, Bonnie or Jeremy—and it was like I was seeing them for the first time. Matt's smile was warmer in person then it had been on screen, his kindness and gentle nature prominent in everything he did. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever been this sweet on the show; if he ever looked at a friend the way he looked at me—like I was responsible for the crinkles in the corners of his eyes and lines around his mouth.

Caroline was different in more ways than I could count. She still had the ability to shine brighter than the sun and plan events down to the last millisecond, except most of her traits were one's I'd been familiar with in later seasons. Something remarkable about her character on the show had been her start in season one—she wasn't perfect by any means, and her flaws were laid out for the audience to see. Yet, as the seasons went by she grew into herself, blooming into the beautiful young woman she was always meant to be.

Now, she didn't seem to harbor all that negativity and lack of self-worth—no, she was kinder, her eyes soft at times where they had been sharp before, and the line of her shoulders straighter, head held high with pride. Watching her walk down the hallway at school had been mesmerizing, her presence commanding attention and turning heads.

Bonnie's personality felt more trusting, the edges to her character smoothed out. Her eyes weren't as haunted, the green gentler than I'd ever remembered them being. She laughed easily now, the sound escaping her without fuss. There was no invisible weight bearing down on her, her posture often relaxed, a picture of peace and tranquility. The matching bracelets on our wrists had been her idea, and whenever she'd begin to stress out or her face would crease with worry over something, she'd lay her fingers against it almost subconsciously. She drew strength from it, from our bond, so much so that I sometimes slipped and called her my sister—something others didn't find out of the ordinary—and couldn't fathom how she was my cousin, instead.

And Jeremy was still an angsty teen, except less self-destructive and with an easy smile. He still painted his nails black and hung band posters on his walls, his bed covers dark with a wardrobe to match. He still complained about everything, but there was no heat to it. Sometimes he made me food, or drew my tattoo design requests, or let our clothes mingle. I lost count of how many times I found his shirts in my laundry but stopped returning them to him once I saw him nonchalantly wearing my Marilyn Manson shirt. He seemed to hate the world a little less, and I thought that was beautiful.

All of them—they were different than they had been on the show. Where I expected one reaction, I got another. Matt didn't feel hopeless about his situation with his mom and at home, Caroline wasn't in constant competition with Elena, Bonnie's abandonment issues—although still there—weren't as severe, and Jeremy didn't feel so alone.

They were different, and not in a bad way—just in a noticeable one. I hadn't considered what my presence here in this world would do, how much it would change things. It meant that having someone close to them changed who they were. It changed them a lot. And I wasn't expecting that.

* * *

 _"Why do they hate me?" I asked, spitting up blood onto the napkin Matt was holding out for me. "Why do they care what I wear, who I like?"_

 _Matt wiped the side of my face, expression tight and guarded. He was angry. "They're afraid of what they don't understand," he said. "And they don't understand you."_

 _"Yeah, well." I hissed at the sting of the disinfectant Matt dabbed onto my cheek. "They can just ask. They fuckin' treat me like I killed someone when I wear a goddamn shirt that's_ 'for guys' _and it's stupid." I shoved away from the counter, yellow bulb in Matt's bathroom making my skin look almost sickly. "What the fuck do they think this'll get them anyway, huh? Bunch of sadistic bastards."_

 _Matt sighed through his nose, tossing the dirty napkins and wipes into the trash. "It's revenge," he said, locking eyes with me. "For what happened to Sophie Young. They think you did something to her."_

 _I clenched my hands, suddenly shaking. "Fuck them," I bit out. "Fuck them all."_

 _Matt didn't say anything, instead gesturing to me to lift the hem of my shirt. I did, watching his reaction in the mirror. He'd become better about keeping the shock from his expression, but it still widened his eyes._

 _"At least they're keeping the hazing to a minimum. Only get beat up once every two weeks, now. It's like they got me on a schedule." I laughed, the sound heavy and bitter. "They usually avoid my face, though. Draws too much attention to walk around with a black eye and a swollen lip. Guess today they hated my outfit even more."_

 _"I think blue's a nice color on you." Matt smiled, the warmth of it easing the tension in my back. "Though maybe you should try something that brings less attention to your chest and makes your shoulders look wider."_

 _"Yeah," I whispered, breath hitching as Matt gently prodded the discolored flesh of my ribs. "I'll see what I can find. If I really want a flat chest, though, I'm gonna need an actual binder."_

 _"They sell those online, right?" Matt asked, and I could immediately tell he was trying to distract me. We've had this conversation countless times before. I appreciated the sentiment, masking a wince as he found a particularly tender spot._

 _"That they do. Need a card to be able to buy one."_

 _"Have you talked to your Grams about setting you up with one?"_

 _I choked on a gasp. "T-To complicated right now."_

 _Matt paused, lowering my shirt and standing. "Has she...?"_

 _"Started drinking again? Yeah. Bonnie doesn't even wanna go see her this time."_

 _"I'm sorry," Matt said, sincere. "I know that doesn't do much, but I mean it."_

 _"It does plenty." I fixed the clothing Matt had lent me, my shirt lying in a stained heap along with my jeans on the floor. "D'ya think washing it will get the blood and dirt out?"_

 _"If we do it by hand, maybe. It hasn't fully dried, so I'll let it soak in the sink for a bit."_

 _"Thank you, Matt. Really."_

 _"Anytime, Sam."_

 _"What are you doing here?"_

 _I froze in the middle of the hallway, bundle of clothes clutched in my arms. For a second I considered running for it; the front door was so close. "What do you think?" I countered, turning slowly. "Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?_

 _Vicki had her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wall that led to the kitchen. "You got me there."_

 _"Glad we got that settled." I shifted away from her, bruised knee protesting all the while. "I was just on my way out."_

 _I had the door half open before she spoke, voice so faint I couldn't made out what she said. "What?"_

 _"I said...I said I'm sorry." Vicki hadn't moved from her spot, but her eyes were averted. "You know, about everything."_

 _I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. "That's a pretty broad blanket statement."_

 _"The hazing. The teasing—I'm sorry about that."_

 _Leaving the door open, I shuffled toward her a few steps. "Why're you apologizing? Is this some cruel way of messing with my head? 'Cause trust me, stick to the beatings. It's more believable than this."_

 _Vicki pursed her lips at that, pushing off the wall. "Take it or don't take it, I don't care either way. I just thought you should know."_

 _"Know what? You think everything that's happened can be forgiven so easily?"_

 _"I didn't say that. I just...I just thought telling you was fair."_

 _I stood there, holding my torn shirt and ripped jeans. They'd been covered in dirt more than blood this time, but that felt less like a victory and more like a bad omen. Vicki met my eyes challengingly, the set of her jaw familiar. Matt would clench it the same way when he was being stubborn, the muscles in his cheeks flexing with the effort. I sighed heavily, the anger from that afternoon seeping away at the motion. Exhaustion prickled at my eyes._

 _"You know what? I'm tired. I'm really fuckin' tired. So, I'm going home." I stared at her for a beat longer, contemplative. She nodded at me once in acknowledgement; I would've smiled ruefully if my mouth didn't hurt so much. "Goodnight, Vic."_

 _"Tyler!" I called, waving an arm over my head to get his attention. "Hey, Tyler!"_

 _He emerged from a group of guys, patting a few on the back before making his way over to me. He took a long sip from his bottle of water, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Heya, Sam."_

 _"Dude," I said, gesturing for him to lean in closer to me. "Guess what?"_

 _"What?" he asked, eyes already lighting up at the way I shifted excitedly from foot to foot._

 _"I managed to score some beer!" I punched his chest, laughing. "You game to try some with me?"_

 _Tyler gave a long whistle, ruffling my hair with a lopsided grin. "You already know, Bennett. How'd you even get your hands on some, anyway?"_

 _He raised his arm for a high five, and I had to jump a little to reach it. "It's a secret." I beamed but then hurriedly continued. "I got it from Ellie's brother. Cost me $20 dollars, but it's so worth it."_

 _"Look at you. You're smarter than you look," he teased._

 _"Good, 'cause you're dumb enough for the both of us."_

 _Tyler rolled his eyes, unimpressed, but I knew better than to tease him without reassurance after. I nudged his foot with my shoe, stepping on the front of it a little to get him to look back at me. "So, since you're one of my best friends—"_

 _"You can't have more than one best friend," he interrupted._

 _"—I want you to drink it with me. C'mon, it'll be all symbolic and shit. Like this is a...a christening! I think that's the word. Like it's a christening of our last year here and the start of high school in a few months. What d'ya say?"_

 _Tyler snickered, draping an arm over my shoulders and guiding me toward the entrance of the school. "You really think I'd say no to that?" He raised his eyebrows for emphasis. "You're a terrible best friend. Of course, I'm in."_

 _"That's great! It'd be awkward if you said no 'cause you already said yes the first time I asked you."_

 _Tyler laughed. "Then why'd you ask again?"_

 _"For double confirmation. You can never be too sure."_

 _"Yeah, well, you can always be sure with me."_

* * *

"Sam," Zach greeted, as usual. He gave me enough room to enter, waiting until the door was shut and locked before asking, "Everything all right? You look like you just won the lottery."

"Close enough. I remembered something." I all but ran to the library, tugging Zach after me enthusiastically. The older man chuckled at my excitement, having to jog to keep up. "Stefan!" I tossed my bag onto a nearby chair, skidding to a stop in front of the vampire. Zach let me manhandle him in front of me so I could look at them both. "I know what journal has the information on Emily's grimoire."

Stefan perked up with interest, having stood when Zach and I hurried into the room. He leaned forward, hands braced on the table. "Which?"

"Johnathan Gilbert's journals. He wrote a bunch of 'em with lots of information, like, I don't know how I could've forgotten about them. They have the answers to a lot of stuff we'll need!"

"What made you remember?" Zach asked.

"You wouldn't believe how much time I spend just sitting down in my room, thinking."

Stefan smiled. "Where are they?"

That made me pause with a frown. "Uh...I don't know?" At Stefan's eyebrow raise I quickly added, "But this is something, right? We know who the journals belong to, finding them shouldn't be so hard, especially when it's from the Gilbert family line."

Zach folded his arms over his chest. "If that's the case, then shouldn't they be with the Gilbert's?"

"Oh!" I said, blinking rapidly. "I-I think you're right."

"Sam?" Stefan asked, but I didn't look at him.

 _The Gilbert house. Where could the journals be? No one had mentioned them at all, not even Jeremy. They wouldn't be out in the open with such heavy subject material inside. They'd be hidden. But where? Not in Elena or Jeremy's rooms, not in the kitchen. Maybe in the living room? Could be in a cabinet, or something. Or in one of the closets, maybe even Miranda's bedroom—Miranda. Miranda! I could ask her if she...wait no, that'd backfire. She'd get suspicious. She's probably read what's inside and would—_

"Hey, Sam. You alright?"

— _not appreciate me digging around. Especially since she knows Elena's the doppelganger and. And. Oh my god. Oh my god._

"Oh my _god_." I felt my hand cover my mouth.

 _She knows everything. She knows_ everything _. She's known about the supernatural this entire time. Of course! How stupid could I be to miss that? Abby was the one who drew Mikael away when he came to close to finding Elena—Miranda and Grayson knew about that. They knew...they knew. Hell, they've_ known _. Didn't Grayson do something at Whitmore College with vampires—?_

"What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know. She's still breathing, but her heart is beating faster than normal. She...she's afraid."

"Of what? She was fine a moment ago."

"I don't know, Zach! Put a pillow under her head."

 _Augustine. Augustine. Augustine. AugustineAugustineAugustineAugustine. Vampires being tortured and tested on. Grayson led those experiments. Damon was a part of it—oh, dear god, Enzo. Enzo's still there—he's still at Whitmore. I have to save Enzo._

* * *

"Quit fussing over me, I'm fine."

Zach blanched. "You practically went comatose—how is that _fine_?"

I rubbed the side of my head. "I'm sure that's an exaggeration."

"Sam," Stefan said, like that would help the situation at all. His face was pinched and brows pulled down, brooding full force.

"You're acting like I had a stroke." I batted away their attempts to help me stand. "This comes with the territory. Let's move on. I have a lot to discuss and I don't want to forget any of it."

They both look displeased, but I settled into a chair and started scribbling on a piece of paper, ignoring them. I had figured out a way to go about things, the little flashback shedding light on stuff I hadn't considered before. I made a mental note to eat a protein heavy meal when I got home, not liking the fuzziness at the edges of my vision. I'd lied to them blatantly about having passed out before due to remembering (visions, they thought). The worst it's ever been was a migraine that lasted a few hours. I was sure I just needed to eat and sleep better; Sara and her constant presence had been taking a toll on me.

"So," I began, not checking to see if they were paying attention to me. "The journals are definitely in the Gilbert house. I'll do my best to get them, since I'm over there a lot. Now, I don't know how I could've forgotten—but Miranda and Grayson knew about the supernatural. When Elena was a little girl, someone came into town looking for her, since she's a doppelganger and her blood is very special. Abby, Bonnie's mom, had to lure them away and then trap them somewhere. So, they've known about this for a long time." Stefan sat down beside me, expression weary. "I'm also assuming you haven't found anything good enough to convince Damon that Katherine's not in the tomb, so I have an idea. One you're gonna think is stupid, and frankly, it kind of is. But that's why it'll work," I paused, pursing my lips. "Okay that makes no sense, but hear me out. You let _me_ talk to Damon. I know how to convince him."

Stefan's eyebrows shot up so quickly, I would've laughed if it weren't for how his entire face shifted. "No," he said, shaking his head. "That's too dangerous. He'll try to kill you if he senses you're trying to stop him."

"What do I look like, a friggin' child? I _know_ that, Stefan. But I also know something only he thinks he knows—" _Enzo_ , my mind whispered— "and it's better than you trying to bond with him and stop him from being, well, you know, _Damon_. You gotta trust me on this, because this gives us the perfect opportunity for you to go and get the grimoire, wherever it is, while he's distracted with me. He's been watching you and me like hawk for weeks, now. It's breathing room we need."

I flipped to a new page, messy writing practically illegible except to me. "And that reminded me about the whole breaking and entering thing at the Lockwood's—Damon's suspicious about me. The last thing we need is for him to decide to follow me for some reason and find me creeping somewhere I'm not supposed to be, with something that looks like the Bennett talisman. So, you're on distraction duty for that night. And don't give me that face. If you come with me, he'll follow. If you go anywhere near the place, he'll know something's up. How'll we explain the fact that we're sneaking in to the Lockwood mansion like a couple of old pals? We won't, because Damon will probably kick our asses, and I don't plan on all our hard work going to waste."

Leaning back, I eyed the vampire, then Zach. They both seemed to be communicating silently, and I took the break to crack my knuckles and pop the crick in my shoulder. I was constantly achy due to Matt's training, but it was the bearable kind. A reminder of all the work I was putting in and starting to see results for.

"Just so y'all know, I ain't asking for permission."

Stefan turned slowly, his jaw set in a way that made his expression inscrutable. But he nodded, a quiet sigh making his frame relax. "We'll do it. But we're going to take all necessary precautions. Damon's…Damon. It's going to take more than just you telling him whatever it is you know to stop him. He's unpredictable, impulsive. We're going to do this right. We only have one shot."

"You're telling _me_."

* * *

I parked Bonnie's car along the sidewalk, the remains of the sunset washing over the trees and spilling onto the roofs of houses along the street. I adjusted my messenger bag over my shoulder, locking the car and balancing the take out in the crook of my arm. It was warm and heady with the scent of _food_ , making my stomach growl as I tediously opened the front door with only one hand.

"Bonnie, I'm here! Brought what you asked for." Kicking the door shut, I put everything down in the kitchen and brought out cups, setting my bag on a chair and stifling a yawn.

"Coming!" Bonnie called from somewhere in her room, the sound muffled as I heard her shuffling around in there.

"What do you want to drink?" I asked, rummaging around in the fridge to see what options there were.

"Any juice is fine!"

I poured her a glass, rubbing one of my eyes tiredly. Blinking blearily, I filled my own cup with water. "How was work?"

"Fine! Next week's my last, and we're planning a little pizza party with the other lifeguards. Don't tell Caroline, I'm supposed to be sticking to a diet." She laughed, her bedroom door closing.

"I won't. Don't act like I spill everything to her." I finished setting the table, forks and napkins set next to the black take-out box. "And does this diet consist of burritos and nachos, too? Or is this something else I, too, sadly, have to keep from Caroline?" Turning on the faucet, I started washing what little dishes were already in the sink.

"Oh, shush. It's on me. Keep this between us." I could hear the scape of a chair against the floor, the opening of the box and her delighted gasp enough to make me snort in amusement.

"Dig in," I said, and then nearly dropped the plate I was holding.

Right outside the window sat a large crow, its head cocked, and one beady black eye trained on me. I stared at it, unmoving. Bonnie was talking behind me, saying something about cheer practice; lukewarm water ran continuously against the plate in my hands, sponge slipping through my fingers. The crow perched closer, head bobbing as if it were laughing. I swallowed thickly, pulse hammering. I blinked, it blinked back. Distantly, porcelain clattered in the sink. I shut the water off, almost on autopilot. The crow pecked its beak against the glass once, ruffled its wings, and took flight.


	13. Chapter 13

Stefan and I helping Zach pack up his things marked the last time the three of us would be in the boarding house together. It was early in the afternoon, the sun not high enough to be much of a problem yet, but I still felt my shirt sticking to me in places, sweat beading on my forehead and upper lip. I had pulled up to the house and immediately felt myself bristle, shoving down the urge to scan the trees lining the driveway. My magic had gotten stronger over the past few weeks, but I wasn't sure if my reaction had been due to my paranoia increasing or senses sharpening. Either way, I waved to Zach, who'd been lowering the ramp on the moving truck he'd rented.

Stefan had chosen that moment to emerge from the house, and it hadn't been that difficult to pretend this was our first meeting. I just had to remind myself that he was Stefan Salvatore—an attractive vampire with the mossiest green eyes I'd ever seen and a smile to die for. I felt my heartbeat pick up, staring openly at him as he shook my hand, the muscle in his bicep flexing. Stuttering through our introductions and his friendly questions, I played over an embarrassing moment from my childhood in order to blush, avoiding eye contact from there on out.

The longer we worked, the more certain I became that the looming presence at my back was Damon. Entering the house after loading up a few boxes was always a relief, especially once the sun rose higher and the back of my neck prickled with sweat. I tried not to get too sentimental with Zach, knowing our friendship, to Damon at least, was merely informational. While upstairs with the last of his things, I was finally able to give him a hug. I didn't bother giving him my number, knowing he probably had Stefan's, and the less connection he had with us, the better.

"You be safe, wherever you're going." Stefan and Zach had decided it was better to keep Zach's new home a secret, although I assumed he was going someplace Stefan owned. It didn't matter, as long as he was safe. "I'd ask you to send postcards, but…you know. An occasional update would be nice, though."

Zach smiled. "Of course. I'm sure Uncle Stefan will nag me enough for the both of you."

There were a couple of boxes left in the library, and Stefan and Zach let me carry them. It was almost symbolic—me loading up the last of Zach's life into the back of a truck with the rest of his belongings. After setting them down and dusting my hands, I turned around and took a moment, as brief as it was, to look at the both of them. Stefan had a line of sharpie on the side of his arm (I'd marked him when he wasn't paying attention, though now that I thought about it, maybe he'd only pretended not to notice), his too tight shirt enough to warrant me staring at him in the first place. Zach's hair was messy from working, a post-it note sticking to the side of his jeans (not my doing, but something told me he'd still think I'd put it there). I hopped off the truck, lifting the ramp with the help of Stefan and sliding it back into place.

"You're all set, Zach," Stefan said behind me, ignoring my curse as I banged my ankle against the metal lip of the truck in an attempt to pull the door down. "I'll take good care of the place for you, you have my word."

I frowned, knowing Stefan was supposed to be a teenager around my age. "You're gonna look after this place yourself? That's a pretty big job for a teen."

"Stefan's very responsible for his age, I trust he'll look after the boarding house well. I'll visit, too, so he won't always be alone."

Pursing my lips, I shrugged and slid the lock into place to keep the door closed. "Kinda scary, living in such a huge place by yourself. Don't know how you've done it, Zach."

"I enjoy the solitude," he said simply, patting my shoulder. "I should get going. Thank you both for helping."

Half-tripping on the bar attaching Zach's car to the moving truck, I gave a little nod of acknowledgment to him. "Thank you for feeding my obsession. You're a great debater."

He laughed at that, taking a sip of water. "You'll make a great history professor one day, Sam. Take care, both of you."

Zach and Stefan hugged, and then he was on his way. I suddenly felt incredibly awkward standing next to Stefan alone, sweaty and covered in dust.

"Ah," I said, and because I had no tact whatsoever (and in this situation, it worked in my favor), I proceeded to point finger guns at Stefan while walking backwards. "I should uh...leave, too. Hope you get settled in okay."

His eyes sparkled with amusement, lips twitching into smile. He watched me scuttle to Bonnie's car, giving me a brief wave and charming grin. "See you at school, Sam."

"Right." I did a weird little foot shuffle, hesitant. _Damn,_ I thought. _I should win an Oscar for this._ "See you, Stefan."

* * *

"You miss her."

Matt snorted. "That's an understatement."

The headlights of his car cut clean across the darkness of the road. I could see the leaves on the trees that lined either side of the road rustling in the breeze. My feet hung lazily outside the passenger window, half slouched onto the seat and half on Matt's shoulder. I popped another grape in my mouth, rolling it around with my tongue.

"Not to be a mood killer, but I have to ask. What would you do if this…break up is permanent?"

Matt stiffened behind me, and I resisted the urge to flinch in response. Instead, I tilted my head back to get a batter look at him.

"I've…tried thinking about it. But," he frowned deeply, and I wanted to smooth the crease between his eyebrows, "I can't imagine what I would do. I-I love her more than anything. She's one of the most amazing people I know. And I can't get her out of my head. I don't really want to, either. It hurts—it _sucks_ , honestly—but she's going through a lot. I just wish she wouldn't ignore me." He ran a finger along the lip of his drink. "How is she?"

"She's…coping?" I winced. "Okay, well, it's barely been four months, Matt. She's still a bit of a mess, but nothing at all like she'd been initially."

He nodded, eyes downcast. "Has she said anything about me?"

I involuntarily bit down, grape bursting between my back teeth. Matt raised his eyes to look at me when I didn't respond. I sighed.

"No," I said reluctantly. "She hasn't. But to be fair, she knows we're good friends and that you'd probably ask me to spill anything related to the break up. Bonnie probably knows more than I do," I paused. "And no, I'm not asking Bonnie to tell me anything about it."

Matt raised a brow; I rolled my eyes. "Not asking Jeremy either."

He slumped back. " _Fine_."

"Have you…tried talking to her yourself?"

"No," he admitted. "That would be weird. She did break up with me, after all."

"This can go two ways." I shifted so I was sitting upright, facing Matt. "You can either give it more time and hope that Elena will find her way back to you once she's in a better place, or you can accept the break up for what it is. You're allowed to grieve, you love her, and will probably always love her, but goddamn, you're _sixteen_ , Matt. You've barely even lived your life at this point, seen a fraction of what the world has to offer. And you—you're…fuck. You're indescribable. Beautiful. You're you, and you take my breath away. So," I rested my fingers under his chin, smiling, "this isn't the end. If she does or doesn't want to give what you guys had a second chance—I just know that you're going to be happy in life. I don't want you to feel held back because of this. 'Cause you're Matt freaking Donovan, and you're destined to fall in love with someone with a heart as big as yours."

Matt ducked his head, but I could still see the blush rising in his cheeks, the goofy smile on his lips. I laughed, ruffling his hair and bumping the side of his face with my forehead, slinging an arm over his shoulders and shoving the Tupperware full of fresh fruit into his hands.

"Now help me eat some of this, you big dork. I didn't cut this all for myself."

Matt snickered, eyes bright. "Love you too, Sam."

* * *

"How much longer do you plan on keeping secrets from me?"

"Maybe if you stop asking me that you'll find out."

Caroline pulled back the curtain of her dressing room, brows to her hairline and hands on her hips. "Sam Bennett, don't get smart with me."

I raised my hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry, I have this one blonde friend who's incredibly sassy. She's been rubbing off on me. Bad influence, I know," I paused, looking over the dress she had on. "Too blue. It hurts my eyes."

"Ugh," she grumbled, swiveling back into the room. "This is supposed to be _fun_."

I pursed my lips, considering. "Am I too much of a drag for you?"

" _No_." She peeked her head out, looking annoyed. "I just can't find anything I like, and it's been months since the accident and you _still_ haven't told me anything."

"I'll do another sweep, see if anything catches me eye." Standing, I walked toward the dressing room. "And I _will_ tell you what's going on. I just need you to give me another week or two. Have some things to settle."

"I swear, if you're involved with some mafia group or something I will fight you," she paused, eyes narrowed. "Especially since you didn't let me in on it sooner."

I huffed a laugh, smiling unevenly. "I'll be back in a few, put on the next thing."

I found a few other dresses Caroline might like, along with a shirt which I knew she wouldn't buy but I wanted to see her try on anyway. She ended up only getting one thing: a yellow summer dress. I got the shirt. It was purposely cut up around the collar, making it hang mostly off your shoulders; the print on the front was of an open coffin overflowing with roses.

"You know," I said, as we left the store and moved on to one further down the block. "School starts in a week. You nervous about junior year?"

"Am I ever nervous about anything?" she countered, smirking. "This year is going to rock, trust me. Mystic Falls High never had a chance."

I laughed, relaxing as we entered another AC cooled store. "Not with you as the president of almost every committee."

"That's an exaggeration. I don't need to be president of everything to get my way."

"Oh, I like that confidence." I followed Caroline as she led us to the back, maneuvering through racks of clothing with ease. "Go _Timberwolves_!"

"This cheer season will be our best. The football team's been working really hard, too. Matt's doing great as a quarterback. We're going to kick ass."

"I don't doubt it."

I rifled through a rack, looking for what Caroline might like. She nudged my elbow, peering down at me curiously.

"You'll be careful, right? With whatever you're doing? I get that you can't tell me yet, but I still worry."

"You and me both," I said. "I'll be careful. Can't make any promises, but I'm not trying to get hurt, so there's that."

"Very reassuring." She shook her head, but the crease between her brows smoothed out a little. "Let's look over there, they had some shirts I'd like to see on you."

"Is this the part where I become your Ken doll?"

She laughed. "Oh, shut up. You secretly love it."

* * *

"What are you planning on doing about Tyler?"

I scowled at Jeremy, shoving him aside with my elbow. "Can you not?"

"No," he said, shoving me back. "I _can't_. So, tell me what you have in mind for him."

"Nothing. Not a damn thing, Jer."

Jeremy spilled some of his popcorn when gesturing wildly at me. "Seriously? You're not even going to prepare for what he might do at the start of the school year?"

"Nah. He just needs to blow some steam off. I'm not gonna piss him off more."

"Blow some steam off— _Sam_ , he's going to do his best to make your life _hell_."

"I'd like to see him try." I grabbed a handful of popcorn, flicking one at Jeremy before sitting down. "I have other things to worry about, anyway. He'll lose interest soon."

I took a sip of my drink, assuming the conversation was over. Jeremy looked flabbergasted, literally _flabbergasted_ ; I burst out laughing, nearly choking on a popcorn kernel.

"I'll be fine. He's never laid a hand on me—"

"He did at the park."

"—okay, so he did once. And look, I'm not trying to be cocky or make things seem like they're all okay. I just…don't care, man. I don't give a shit. Tyler, before this thing with Vicki happened, he didn't glance at me twice. At school, parties, when I'd run laps on the track with Matt. He's angry, and it'll fizzle out and die. Not sure when, or how, but it's _Tyler_. He's an asshole, yeah. A bully with a short temper, but I don't hate the guy. Let him come at me full force. I'm not who I was when all this shit went down."

Jeremy looked skeptical, biting into his candy bar a little too aggressively. He chewed thoughtfully, eyeing me all the while. "A few months ago, you would've described to me in vivid detail how you would've torn Tyler a new one for even trying to start up shit again."

"Yeah well, a few months ago things were different." The lights in the theater dimmed, a preview starting to play on the screen. " _I_ was different. Not everything can be solved with violence."

Jeremy snorted. "You were saying the opposite not too long ago. You've been training again, Sam. Making Matt reteach you the basics as if you didn't already know how to have someone down on their knees in front of you in two seconds flat. You're worried about something, and I didn't ask, because fuck do I know? I was just happy that we all got to be a part of it. But you—you've been different. Why the sudden change?"

"Life's a hell of a thing," I said simply, shrugging. "I don't care anymore, I really don't. People at school can tease and be dicks all they want. I'm not doing shit to provoke them other than living my life. If they want to get down and dirty then that's on them. I just wanna live _my_ life. What's so wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Jeremy deadpanned. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Good, 'cause if you said otherwise I woulda had to do something terrible, like tell your sister about the skin mags you have under your mattress."

"Oh, come _on_. That's just mean."

"That's why I said 'woulda,' Jer. You and your right hand are safe." I made a face, wiggling my eyebrows teasingly. "For now."

He groaned, slumping into his seat. "You love this, don't you? I'm never showing you something personal ever _again_."

* * *

"Have you made any progress with your fanged friend yet?"

"Wow, that was bad and we both know it."

Bonnie grimaced. "I thought it was a _little_ funny."

"Maybe," I hedged, kicking away the blanket at my feet. "We're making progress. You'll know the rest of the details soon enough."

"Vague as always." She pushed the book off her lap, stretching like a cat against the side of the sofa.

I smiled, head hanging off the cushion. "Soon enough you'll wish I hadn't ever said anything."

"That's less of a threat and more so curiosity inducing. You're terrible."

" _Obviously_."

"School starts in a few days. How are you feeling about it?"

"You know, everyone keeps asking me that." I swung my legs over the back of the sofa. "I'm fine. Not ecstatic, but fine. If people think this is going to be a repeat of last year, they have another thing coming."

There was a pause, some paper rustling, and then, "I never thought Tyler was capable of this."

"People are afraid of what they don't understand," I said, quoting Matt from one of Sara's memories. "He's also pissed off about Vicki, and he's taking it out on me. Dude never had the best temper."

"I just…you were such good friends. It's like he turned on you." Bonnie sounded like this was an old argument between us, but her voice was tired and resigned instead of upset.

"Not everything is black and white. He…wasn't ever like those other kids. He never got some sick pleasure from hurting me. He'd never even called me a slur until that day at the park. Fuck, Bonnie," I said on a sigh, rubbing a hand down my face. "You should've seen the look in his eye. It reminded me of the way his dad would get before…you know. And like, what he said—I'm not trying to justify it. It hurt a lot to hear him talk to me like that, to have him actually try and hurt me with his own bare hands. He was my friend. Kinda like the asshole older brother I never had. But things just aren't ever easy, are they? I start experimenting with what I wear, he drifts away. I get outed, he watches me get the living shit beat out of me. I tell Vicki to break up with him, and he tries to hit me." There was a hitch in my breathing, a catch in my throat, the words getting harder to say. "I still care about him, and that's the really fucked up part, huh? He hurts me, and I find ways to tell myself it's okay. That his dad's a mean drunk, his mom's neglectful, that he grew up with this image to uphold and his parents making him feel inferior." I rolled over, shoving my face into a pillow. "Wow, okay, that was a lot of shit I didn't meant to say."

The sofa dipped, warmth pressing to my lower back. A hand rested between my shoulder blades, comforting. "Your feelings are valid. You aren't making excuses for him, you're just trying to understand. And I get that. I just—I never want you to blame yourself, okay? You wear and like whatever and whoever you want, and anyone who goes out of their way to hurt you…they aren't worth it. Because you, Sam, are amazing. Not despite those things, but _because_ of them."

I gripped her wrist, not looking at her but feeling my heart squeeze in my chest. "We're outsiders in this town," I said quietly. "We never stood a chance, did we?"

"That was never up to them. We decide our future. And I say fuck them."

I gave a watery laugh, hugging Bonnie awkwardly with the arm twisted at my back. "You're incredible, you know that?"

"I do, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it more."

I snorted. "I'll make sure to pick up the slack."

"You better. I love getting an ego boost here and there."

* * *

 _I'm in position. You're good to go in ten. Good luck._

I stared at Stefan's message longer than necessary. It was a warm night, moon reflecting off my phone screen almost as a reminder, leaves rustling with the slight breeze.

 _Roger that._

I lowered the brightness, checking for the hundredth time that it was on silent before slipping it into the side of my boot. Rubbing my gloved hands together, I circled the house once more to pass the time, noting which windows had lights on and which had curtains drawn. According to Stefan, Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood were at dinner with a few board members, leaving only Tyler home. I tried to get Matt to ask Tyler to hang out, but word had spread about Tyler's stunt at the park and now Matt was avoiding all contact with him. I hadn't pressed it.

The room I needed to go into was upstairs—and that was all I remembered. I didn't know which room, couldn't seem to call up any recollection of the episode where Damon had gotten the talisman or where Mason had retrieved the moonstone. I lied through my teeth when reassuring Stefan, telling him I knew the house better than him and would try to summon a vision. I didn't even know how to get _in_. I was so fucked.

Tyler had brought Sara over a few times when they were younger, but her memories were fuzzy. She could only tell me where a few rooms were, and they were all downstairs. Tyler had given her a tour at one point, but that was years ago. The best she could do was remember the stairs. I repeat: I was so fucked.

Checking my watch, I had a few minutes left. I'd been standing out here for close to half an hour, having borrowed Jeremy's bike yesterday just for this. It rested in the tree line, obscured by bushes.

There were a few entrances—the front (obviously), the back, and a couple of side doors. The one I'd been eyeing led to what looked like the kitchen. The curtains were drawn, and I could only make out vague shapes. It was the least intimidating way to enter.

Hovering near cover, I strained my eyes to see if there was any movement from inside the house. There hadn't been for exactly 17 minutes. The last shadow had been Tyler's on the second floor—his room, I assumed—but he could've left anytime during that.

My watch showed that it had been ten minutes; I blew out a heavy gust of air, lightly slapping the sides of my face to focus my attention. I looked over my appearance one last time, doing a little boxer's shuffle to check (again) if my outfit made any suspicious noises. The boots were silent, the soft leather not a worry. I wore running tights because jeans— _nope_ , not in this situation. I had to be prepared, and they were comfy as hell. The jacket—also soft leather—had inside pockets, which were crucial when stealing without pants to shove things in.

A movement near the top caught my eye—the bathroom, judging by the size of the window—and I took that as a cue to place my hands on the door handle, concentrating on the spell I'd been practicing for weeks now. Beneath my fingers, the metal shifted, the lock mechanism undoing. The telltale _click_ of the bolt sliding back eased the tension in my shoulders.

Careful to be quiet, I opened the door, warm kitchen light washing over me. I blinked, sight adjusting. It was empty—and _huge_ —but empty. Crouching, I surveyed the area around me as I side-stepped my way further into the room. There were two exits; one led to the dining area, the other connected to the main hallway.

The house really was enormous, something which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it would be easier to hide, a curse because how many _fucking_ rooms were there to check? The main hallway seemed to stretch on for miles, multiple doors and expensive looking vases lining either side of it. Most of the lights were off, only the necessary amount on in order to keep it from being completely dark. I stuck to the wall, choosing the side that led to the front of the mansion.

 _Bingo,_ I thought, finding the entrance. I recognized it from the show—Tyler had a few parties here, and there was a specific scene where he accidentally pushed a friend down the stairs, almost killing her and triggering his curse. It was nostalgic and unsettling at the same time.

Shaking myself out of my daze, I crossed the room quickly, eyeing the long row of stairs dominating a portion of the room. Peering up, I saw nothing. I hoped Tyler was still in the bathroom.

Ascending the stairs was nerve wracking; I felt as if I was trapped. Tyler could come out any second and find me, out in the open and vulnerable, and I didn't trust my legs to not fuck up and keep me from tumbling down in my haste to run. But if someone came home, then I'd be stuck upstairs. Panicking slightly, I took the stairs two at a time, blessing the stars that none of the steps made noise. Letting my heartbeat settle, I took a moment at the top to glace down both sides of the second floor.

 _Doors, doors, and more doors!_ I wrung my hands together, knowing time was of the essence. My anxiety was revved up to the max, but I had to focus. Stefan could only buy me so much time. I picked a side and gently tried every doorknob; some opened without a problem, but led to unoccupied bedrooms, and some were locked—and with the help of my magic—opened, but useless. Sweeping one side of the second floor fried my nerves. The talisman and moonstone couldn't be in a bedroom or bathroom—it had to be somewhere else. Damon was smarter than that (I hoped) and I could practically hear my watch ticking, time slipping through my fingers.

Dashing down the hallway to where it connected to the other wing, I tried every door I saw, mindful of this being where Tyler's room was and the bathroom he'd last been in. I could feel my shirt sticking to me, hands clammy inside the gloves I wore. I had to wipe my forehead more than once, heart beating fast enough to cause an echo in my ears.

And then a door swung open.

I managed to muffle my surprised exhale, not bothering to get a better look at where the sound came from and instead shoving myself into the closet I'd been just about to walk away from. It was spacey, soft light spilling in from the crack at the bottom. It flickered as someone—Tyler—passed, and I waited until I was sure I heard another door shut to continue breathing. I pressed my fingers against my pulse point, shaky. _Breaking into people's houses is terrible. I don't know how robbers do it._

I didn't know which room Tyler's was, but I forced myself to keep checking every door, poised to run if I had to. I rounded anther hallway, knees starting to cramp up from my tense position when I heard a noise to my left. Music started up, the words muffled and bass loud enough to make the floor vibrate with it. I could've cheered right then and there but settled for fist-bumping the air and thanking teenage angst for the extra noise.

The end of this hallway was faster to get through, and there was only one locked door sandwiched between an enormous guest bedroom and storage closet. It was harder to open due to my magic waning under constant use, but it clickedopen and let me in. It revealed—another bathroom. I cursed involuntarily, banging my fist against my thigh. _It's not here! And who the fuck locks bathrooms?_

Spinning on my heel, I decided that the first floor was now a viable option. If it wasn't up here, it had to be down there. It _had_ to be.

Checking my watch, I noted twenty minutes had passed since I came inside. I told Stefan I wouldn't be longer than forty, and if I hadn't given him an update at the end of that, he should probably start worrying. And stall some more.

There were lots of rooms on the first floor, many more than I'd been expecting, but easier to access and work with. There was a library, multiple lounge rooms—like the boarding house, but more extravagant (minus the ballroom, of course).

While bent over a drawer full of files in a study, I heard the sharp _click_ of metal twisting. I froze, a loose strand of hair falling free from my ponytail and tickling the side of my face. I immediately dropped to the ground, closing the drawer and peeking around the desk I was behind. A second passed. Then another. There was no movement, no sound other than my shallow breathing. I swallowed dryly, chest heavy.

 _Okay, creepy. Very creepy. Gotta hurry the hell up._

I kept searching, drawers coming up empty and desks void of anything useful. It was reaching the forty-minute mark, and I hadn't found anything. There was another sound, a thud of sorts, from above. So, I forced myself to concentrate on the other side of the study, sensing Tyler was outside of his room. Maybe it was paranoia, but all that mattered was that I got what I needed and left. Neatly, quietly, without a trace. It could be done, I just had to stop my hands from shaking so much as I looked around.

I used a chair to hoist myself higher, looking through the top shelf against the wall. As I rummaged inside a basket of sorts, there was a _thump,_ this time from the floor. I held my breath, alarm bells ringing loud and clear in my ears. Two more _thumps_ followed; I tasted bile.

Lowering myself back onto the ground, I slowly stepped toward where the sound was coming from. Knees pressing against the wooden floor, I laid my hands against it, startling when another _thump_ touched back.

Tamping down my urge to recoil, I flipped the corner of the rug over. There was a quarter sized hole in a wooden panel; I stared at it, unblinking. Curling a finger inside, secretly hoping nothing below would touch me back, I pulled at the panel, grunting at the effort it took to unstick it from the floor. Setting it aside, I focused on the safe that was exposed, combination lock intimidating. I hovered my hands over it, feeling the pull of magic up to my shoulders—weak and slow. The lock started to turn, sluggish yet progressing. Sweat beaded at my temples, fingers aching from their stiff position. I counted two minutes, bottom lip held between my teeth.

The latch gave way, safe door creaking open. I huffed, wiping at my forehead and peering inside. I could see papers, held together by clips. Pushing them aside, I scraped to the bottom of the safe with my fingers, blindly feeling for anything that wasn't paper. The knuckle on my index finger knocked against wood, and I struck gold.

A small square box with a design on the top was tucked in a corner, its weight significant in my hand. The lid opened smoothly—and my breathing hitched at the milky, oval shape of the moonstone that sat nestled in a dark and spongy lining.

"Thank _fuck_ ," I whispered hotly, shutting the box carefully and pressing the cool wood to my brow bone. I took a moment to _mentally_ fist-bump the air before shoving the box into one of my jacket pockets, the weight of it making the leather hang unevenly on my frame.

Putting everything back as it was, I patted the sides of my thighs nervously. Now for the talisman.

The double doors at the other end of the room suddenly opened, and I scrambled behind a sofa to my right, back flush against it. There were no footsteps, no shift in the air, and for one terrifying second I thought it was Damon, heart crawling up my throat.

But nothing happened. I peered over the top of the sofa, finding the room empty and unchanged besides the doors having opened fully. I stood on shaky knees and creeped out from my hiding spot, exhaling through my nose when nothing jumped out and threatened to eat me. Outside it was also devoid of people and/or possible homicidal maniacs with sharp teeth.

I felt a breeze skirt against the skin of my neck and around to my face, almost as if pushing me forward. I stumbled along for a few steps before realizing I was heading toward the stairs.

"No," I said, the word sounding odd in the stillness of the mansion. I wasn't sure why I said it out loud, the response involuntary.

Another breeze so faint I wondered if I were imagining it swept down my arm, cool against the back of my hand even through my glove. _Yes_ , it seemed to say. _Keep walking._

"I'm an idiot," I groaned, already halfway up the stairs. "A fuckin' idiot. Gonna get myself caught. Can't believe it. Stefan's gonna kick my ass."

The breeze remained, a coil around my wrist in a weird imitation of a hand, guiding and tugging me forward when I stopped to listen for any indication that Tyler was roaming the hallways. He wasn't, but whatever the hell was touching me didn't seem to care. It led me to a room I had already checked, and I grimaced at the fact that I was going to have to unlock it again.

"A goddamn idiot," I grumbled under my breath, my annoyance making the door swing open rather quickly. "Okay, now what?"

I jumped at the shrill _clink_ of glass to my right, shushing whatever made the noise. "Are you _trying_ to get me caught? _Jesus_."

I closed the door, grimacing at the lack of light in the room. The crystal tea set which sat on a desk looked innocent enough. I squinted, not seeing how this was supposed to help. I looked under, sweeping an arm over the area and finding nothing. On top of the desk there were some expensive looking things I was wary to touch—but that thing brought me here, so, it all had to be for the talisman.

I reached further back onto the desk, lightly dragging my fingers along the surface in case there was another panel hidden in the wooden paneling. But I hit the edge of something, eyes barely discerning the outline of— _surprise, surprise_ —another box. I lifted it carefully, bringing it over to a table with a lamp on it. The box was ordinary, simple and unassuming. The inside was empty, though, much to my disappointment. I started to turn away from it when it shook on the table.

"Okay," I said slowly, lips pressing into a thin line. "Don't think it's in there."

The box shook again, almost as if in disagreement. I rolled my eyes but checked again. There was nothing. I flipped it over, feeling for a hidden compartment, tapping it to check for any hollow spots. The wood on the outside was smooth, complete. Biting the tip of my glove and yanking it off, I shifted the box onto my other hand and ran a nail inside it, searching for any gaps or nooks where the talisman could be hidden. It slid into a crevice, the wood covering the area thin beneath my fingertips. I tried prying it open, but my nails only ached with the effort.

 _Wrong area, maybe?_ I knocked it against my hand, wanting to loosen the panel, but instead heard a rattle from inside. _Okay, there's definitely something there._

Running a thumb along the top, I felt it give slightly. Digging in, I managed to pop the covering off rather easily, hissing at my success. The talisman gleamed in the lamplight, an amber colored gem glowing like honey across my palm. I tucked it safely into another jacket pocket before snapping the panel back in place and setting it on the desk.

I let out a huge breath of air, hanging my head for a moment to regain my bearings. I had the moonstone _and_ talisman.

"Thanks." I smiled at nothing, still wary, but appreciative. "I wouldn't have found it without—"

The lamp turned off and I heard the door jingle as it was locked. My words stuck in my throat, a million scenarios running through my mind; I backed up hastily, the room big enough to let me stumble until my legs pressed against a table on the other side.

It was then that I registered Tyler's music had stopped playing—the silence stuffing my ears like cotton. The light filtering in through the bottom of the door flickered, a door down the hall shutting. I held my breath, straining to hear something else. I looked around the room, knowing I had to get out some other way that didn't involve the stairs. There were a few windows along the wall, and I felt my stomach clench in fear at the prospect of jumping.

Someone was talking, the sound muffled. I slapped my cheek hard, needing to ground myself enough to even my breathing and undo the latch. The window slid open without fuss, but I made the mistake of looking down; I felt my heart stop beating.

Two voices, now. The curtains fluttered in the warm Virginia breeze. I looked at the sky, psyching myself up to jump.

"This is stupid. The window will be left open. Can't leave evidence behind." I started to walk away, heading for the door and wringing my hands anxiously. I'd just leave through where I came from. It wouldn't be that hard to wait until whoever was here went to bed.

But the voices stopped, too close for comfort, the deeper of the two right outside the door.

"…important papers for the council. The party is in a few weeks."

I swiveled around violently, hearing the rustle of keys on the other side.

"Shit. Shit shit _shit_ ," I chanted quietly, hauling the window up and swinging a leg over the edge. "Fucking fuck. I'm—ahh, don't think. Just jump. _C'mon_."

The key sliding into the lock make my entire body jerk in fear, my pulse hammering in my throat.

"Please close the window!" I hissed, scanning the ground to make sure no one was outside. The key turned, lock clicking, and I swung my other leg over and pushed off.

I didn't know how to brace myself, not enough time to figure it out in the span of my body rushing toward the grass. I tried to land on my feet, knees bent for impact, but I felt a sharp heat zip up my ankle and instead toppled forward, biting my cheek hard enough to taste blood in order to keep from crying out. I laid on the floor for all of two seconds, lungs refusing to take in air, before rolling over and running to the tree line.

I slumped against a trunk once I was off the main grounds, choking in surprise when I noticed the window was in fact closed, the curtains drawn and no one in sight. Adrenaline still pumped in my veins, making me entire body shake from the intensity of it. I stumbled around until I found where I had hidden Jeremy's bike.

My watch gleamed under the moonlight; it had been an hour since I'd entered the mansion. I scrambled for my phone, flinching at Stefan's message from twenty minutes ago.

 _It's been forty minutes. I can buy you another thirty if you need it. I think Damon is losing interest, though. Respond when you can. Be careful._

I leaned heavily against the bike, shuddering a breath. My heart was still racing.

 _I'm out. Got what we need. Be home in twenty. Keep Damon distracted till then. Don't forget to delete our messages._

The ride home frayed my nerves. The adrenaline wore off, the pain in my ankle getting harder to ignore with every pedal forward. I walked past the front door to the house and climbed inside the window to my room, which I left unlocked. It was almost midnight. I made sure the curtains were closed properly and my door locked before taking out the box with the moonstone along with the talisman. I stared at them, reality setting in. I half fell into a chair, legs giving out. My ankle throbbed.

 _I'm home,_ I typed unsteadily. _I'm safe._

I shucked the phone onto my desk, staring at the way the low lamplight reflected off the moonstone and talisman. I could feel the heat gathering behind my eyes; the corners of my lips trembled.

"Thank you," I whispered. "I don't know what you are…but, thank you."

My lamp flickered in response.

* * *

My mom's fourth letter was about uncommon powers. All of the listed: projection, telepathy, possession, dream manipulation, etc. They were completely out of my range of abilities. But I committed everything to memory, knowing these letters were for learning and even if I couldn't do something, it didn't mean I shouldn't know if someone else could.

At some point, chanting became unnecessary for simple spells. I just had to concentrate, and what I wanted to happen would happen. It was as simple as that.

Bonnie would often join me, and we found that when together, we were stronger. Bennett blood burned hot and bright in our veins, and in the few afternoons that we'd visit Sheila, the three of us were powerful. I'd never felt anything like it before. Weed and alcohol didn't compare, the rush invigorating in a way few things were lately. I wanted to revel in it.

Bonnie seemed to feel the same way, our abilities progressing faster than either of us anticipated. It was hard not to let it go to our heads, but we used one another to stay focused. In those study sessions, we were invincible, though. Untouchable. Forces to be reckoned with.

* * *

The moonstone was hidden in my room, kept in a different box and spelled to be hard to find. The talisman was destroyed, what remained of it scattered in multiple areas. I was waiting for the right moment to go searching in the Gilbert house for the journals, the immediate threat having been taken care of already.

I laid sprawled on my back, lights off and music blaring. A single candle burned on my dresser, the sweet smell of vanilla bean and cinnamon filling the room. Books and papers and my mom's box littered the floor; I absently touched the ring on my left hand.

I'd been thinking about the night at the Lockwood mansion. Been trying to figure out what had helped me find what I'd been there for, how it knew what I was looking for and also where to find it. My first guess had been a ghost, but that wouldn't explain why it helped _me_ , how it knew what it did. My second and more likely guess had been the witches. Bennett witches, to be exact. Emily did wind up destroying the talisman herself through possession of Bonnie, so I understood the motive in helping me there, but the moonstone? How did the witches (or just Emily) know about the moonstone's whereabouts? Why was I led to it, trusted with its possession?

Witches were not known for liking vampires, and if they knew why I broke into the Lockwood mansion—then surely, they knew about Stefan and my working with him. How did they know I wouldn't just hand over the moonstone to Klaus when he rolled into town? Or would give it to someone else? Or that I was even capable of protecting it in the first place?

My mom wrote about the witches briefly in her letter that discussed channeling energy from our bloodline. They watched over their family, protecting and guiding when possible, whenever they could.

But I thought over the night of the accident, the crushing weight on my chest and feeling of something trying to stop me. If it had also been the witches, then why were they helping me now? And if it had also been the witches, then why had they wanted me to let Elena's parents die?

And, most importantly, why didn't they even make sure I was stopped completely? I'd still been able to go and change the future, supernatural forces be damned, despite their efforts. I'd saved Miranda Gilbert's life.

This was no rogue ghost, as much as I hoped to be able to write it off as Casper being a Good Samaritan. This involved dead witches. Whether or not they were a part of my bloodline was another question. They knew what I was up to, and I didn't like it. This could cause problems, and I wasn't intent on being thwarted by them, of all things. I was stuck here and would see through that things were different this time around.

Sara roused, dim in the back of my mind. She crept forward but offered no memories as she usually did, her demeaner different. I focused on her, feeling how hard it was for her to move, her form small. The index finger on my right hand twitched, muscle jumping in my arm. She tried to gain control, and I made myself as lax as possible to allow her to do so. She struggled under the metaphorical weight, only able to make certain body parts jerk but not move. I tried pushing myself into her usual spot but found it difficult. The sudden inability scared me; I'd been so used to having the capability of giving up the reins and letting Sara take over.

 _I don't feel good_ , she thought. I grimaced, unsure if she was talking to me directly or not. She'd never acknowledged my presence before. _Something's wrong._

 _Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?_ I asked, only somewhat dreading the answer.

Sara puddled into a pile, tired. _I can't move._

 _Hey, it's going to be okay. I'll figure something out. Just keep talking._

I sat up quickly, rifling through my mom's box of things. Her grimoire didn't have anything on sharing a headspace with an alternate version of yourself, but maybe there was a potion for giving energy? Maybe I could find something—a tea, perhaps—that could ease her pain?

 _Am I dying?_

The way she spoke made my stomach twist with panic. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing, and Sara sounded so young and fragile and _fuck_ this was her body, her life, and if I couldn't at least help her then what was I useful for?

 _It's all right, you're all right. Can you tell me what you're feeling?_

There was a pause, long enough to make me worry that she'd somehow disappeared. And then, softly, _I haven't been myself for months. I haven't been in control._

She was becoming aware, but still didn't acknowledge me. I started looking around for a potions book Sheila had lent me, back to back with sticky-notes and bound to have something I could use.

 _I know I'm not alone,_ she thought. She felt faint, almost transparent. _But I can't do anything. I think I'm dying._

 _No no no, just give me a second. I'll find something for you, just—oh god I'm so sorry. I never meant for this, I didn't ask to come here. This is all yours, I didn't—I hadn't—it's not mine. I don't belong. Just,_ please _._

I hadn't realized how attached I'd grown to Sara, her constant presence soothing at times. She was a part of me, similar in most ways but different in a few. She was who I could've been if life had been different to me, and I admired her strength. It was like who I was before all of this happened—the me who lived in California and went to college and had a beautiful girlfriend and family and friends and a whole life ahead of her. She was different from the me here. But we were all just versions of one another, connected at our core.

 _I'm scared. I'm really scared. I never got to—never had the chance to…it's too soon._

The book came up blank, and I nearly hurled it across the room. _Hang on. I got you. I-I'll see if there's a potion for you._

 _I can't die, I can't die. I told Matt I'd get him out of this town and Jeremy that he wouldn't be alone and and and I told Bonnie that we were sisters—promised her we wouldn't leave each other._ She paused, her form trembling enough to make my head ache with the pain of it. _I never got to tell Caroline how I feel. I love her, I love her more than I love myself. Whoever the fuck is out there, if you can hear me, tell her I said that. Tell her I love her._

I could feel tears coating my cheeks, but they weren't mine. I clutched at my head and shivered violently, hissing.

 _If someone is listening, if the asshole who—who is doing this can hear me, go_ fuck _yourself._ Sara stopped moving, the sudden stillness more terrifying the pain. _I miss my mom. I always miss my mom._

I wiped my face and the back of my hand came away smeared in blood. _I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry._

 _I can barely even remember the sound of her voice, now. Or how small I felt when she held me._ _Mami, te extraño mucho. Ojalá puedo verte, donde sea que vaya._

I tasted blood now, and I half crawled to my mom's box. My CD player was under the bed, and I slid my mom's disk in, shoving on my headphones with stained hands. I fumbled to press play, cranking the volume high. There was one split second of silence, and then a song started playing.

I swayed on unsteady knees, Sara still thinking, still talking, the light in her almost gone. The box with my—our—mom's ashes was near the top, the necklace still as beautiful as the first time I saw it. I picked it up with a tissue, not wanting to dirty it, half sobbing as I pressed it to my chest and collapsed onto my side.

 _I'm sorry,_ I thought, color starting to spark behind my closed eyes. _I'm so sorry._

The last of Sara's memories started to flicker past, and I blacked out with them still playing out.

 _Everyday love me your own special way_

 _Melt all my heart away with a smile_

 _Take time to tell me you really care_

 _And we'll share tomorrow together._

* * *

 **end author's note:**

[translation]

 _Mami, te extraño mucho. Ojalá puedo verte, donde sea que vaya_ ~ Mom, I miss you so much. Hopefully I can see you, wherever it is I go.


	14. Chapter 14

**author's notes:** _hey all! welcome to the start of season one. i hope it was worth the wait ~_

 **chapter warnings:** _brief marijuana use and mentions of drinking_

* * *

It was the first day of Junior year, my nerves causing me to wake up earlier than my alarm. Tossing on a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and an old pair of jeans, I had a mini freak-out in my room, hopping from foot to foot to get rid of the jitters. I'd already memorized my schedule, organized my school bag, and mapped out what would happen that afternoon. Stefan had asked repeatedly what the first day would be like, but I had only told him to act natural and do his thing. I wasn't here to interfere or influence romantic relationships.

Breakfast was ready when Bonnie stumbled out of her room, squinting furiously and pulling her hair back into a messy ponytail. She perked up at the smell of breakfast, smiling gratefully at the cup of coffee I set in front of her. We still had an hour before school started, giving me time to clean up my room, pack a present I bought for Jeremy into my messenger bag and sling a leather jacket over my shoulders. Absently, I put on my bracelet and ring, pausing when I noticed the box with my mom's necklace on my dresser.

The emptiness in the corner of my mind was suddenly heavy, Sara's presence no longer there. I had woken up that night after having been passed out for a few hours, dry blood caking my face and a weight on my ribs that made it hard to breathe. The necklace was still clutched to my chest, fingers stiff from being in the same position for so long. I hadn't touched it since.

I poked the side of the box, gently nudging aside the lid and letting the morning light spill into its insides. The amethyst stone gleamed, diamonds at the bottom sparkling as I lifted it out of its home, the feel of it in my palm sure and steady. I'd never actually worn it before, but maybe it was time I started doing so. It nestled cozily on my sternum, its leather strap soft against my skin. I tucked it under my jacket and shirt, the stone and metal cool.

After yanking on my boots, I grabbed my stuff and left. With her own bag against her hip, Bonnie applied a coat of lip gloss in the hallway by the door before heading out, too.

The drive to Elena's was short, and I sat in the back with Jeremy. Funnily enough, we both had on black nail polish, although his was chipping. I asked him if he'd be down to hang out at his place after school, instead of going to the Grill like everyone else. Aware of Bonnie and Elena, I made a discrete motion with two fingers to my lips, slightly separated for an invisible joint between them.

"Hell yeah, always," he said, but his lips twitched into a frown, head turning to look out the window.

I glanced at Elena, who seemed better than the last time I'd seen her but had the same expression as Jeremy while she fiddled with the radio. I assumed it had to do with their dad, or maybe their mom—or _both_ —but I didn't want to bring anything up. Instead, I just leaned my arm against Jeremy's and let Bonnie's chatter fill the silence.

Abruptly, something hit the windshield and Bonnie swerved, slamming on the brakes; the seatbelt bit into my chest, breath knocked out of me.

"What was that?!" Bonnie gasped, eyes wide. "Oh my god. Is everyone okay?"

I slumped into my seat, inhaling deeply. I already knew without having seen it clearly that it was a crow that hit the glass. I relaxed my death grip on Jeremy's hoodie.

"Holy shit," he breathed, hand still braced against the door. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, blinking rapidly. "Yeah, I'm good. Elena?"

He leaned forward, touching her shoulder. She exhaled shakily in response.

"I-It's okay. I'm fine."

Bonnie shook her head, forehead creased in worry. "It was like a bird or something. It came out of nowhere."

"Really, I-I can't be freaked out by cars for the rest of my life."

I spotted a crow on a stop sign a few feet in front of the car, facing away with its head turned in our direction. I forced myself to look away, adrenaline making it hard to relax. This was it. The start of everything.

* * *

The school was bustling with people. I had forgotten just how crowded the place got. Jeremy went off on his own after we arrived, leaving Bonnie, Elena and I to maneuver through packed hallways to our lockers.

"Major lack of male real estate," Bonnie said while rounding a corner. "Another disappointing year, I guess."

"I wouldn't say that." I waved to Matt as we came to a stop. "You gotta give it a full day, at least. You've barely even seen the guys."

"I've seen enough. And I feel severely let down."

Elena leaned heavily against her locker. "He hates me."

I pursed my lips, shoving a few notebooks onto a shelf and putting a book in my bag. I was not touching that.

"That's not hate. That's 'you dumped me and I'm too cool to show it, but secretly I'm listening to Air Supply's greatest hits'."

I snorted, closing my locker and rolling my eyes. "He's more of a Coldplay kinda guy, actually."

"Close enough. Either way, he's not mad at you, 'Lena."

She looked doubtful as we turned down another hallway, but Bonnie managed to make her crack a smile. I hung a bit back, hands in the pockets of my jacket, only half-listening to their conversation. Some students gave me weird looks, eyes trailing after me as I walked. On reflex I reached for Sara's spot, flinching when there was nothing there. I was used to her being the one to take over in situations like these, the confidence in the way she held herself impressive.

I tried mimicking it, pushing my shoulders back and changing my lazy shuffle to a longer stride, my shoulder brushing against Elena's as I kept up and let myself be a part of the conversation. It wasn't exactly how Sara would do it—my stance was a little off and my stride not as commanding as hers, but I felt less threatened, so I considered it a win.

"Hold up. Who's this?" Bonnie stopped, peering into the school office.

"All I see is back," Elena replied.

I immediately felt a flash of heat curl in my belly, the anticipation mounting. _Showtime_.

Bonnie smirked. "It's a hot back."

"Oh, hey," I said, feigning surprise. "I know him."

"You _what_?" Bonnie asked, brows hiking high on her forehead.

My lips twitched in amusement. "That's Stefan. He's Zach's nephew."

"Okay, back up. You've _met_ him before?"

"You haven't even seen what he looks like, Bon." Elena shifted the bag on her shoulder, jacket sleeve riding up her forearm and exposing the rainbow bracelet on her wrist; the heart charm shimmered under the hallway lights. I ducked my head to hide my smile. "Stand down. Maybe he's all hot back and no front."

I barked a laugh, nose wrinkling. "I wouldn't say that."

If it were even possible, Bonnie's brows inched up higher. "You need to spill. So far, all I got is a name and familial relation. What I want to know is if—"

"His front is as good as his back, yes, I know." I glanced inside the school office. Stefan seemed to be talking to the secretary. Or, more likely, compelling her. "He's…definitely something. Trust me, words wouldn't do him justice."

"Wow, okay. Now I'm really intrigued." Bonnie crossed her arms loosely over her chest, eyes roaming Stefan's body.

Elena and I gave each other a look, entertained.

"Are we going to wait here creepily until he leaves?" Elena asked, and I briefly remembered how she ran into Stefan on the first day of school.

"Unless you want to go to the men's room," I mumbled.

Elena turned to me. "What?"

"Huh?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What're you hiding?"

"Lots of things. The secret of the universe, the purpose of life, how nice Stefan's arms look in a tight shirt. You know, the important stuff."

She nodded, unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

"I feel weird staring at him. I'm gonna just…" I trailed off, slinking off to the side, away from the entrance of the school office. "Gotta blend in for maximum spying."

Elena followed, leaving Bonnie. She halfheartedly glared at us, but quickly re-focused her attention onto Stefan.

"Sam!" Arms wrapped around my middle, then, and I nearly smacked Caroline in the face when I tripped into the embrace. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

She looked radiant—like a piece of the sun fell off and landed on Earth, like the bluest parts of the ocean swirled in her eyes. She beamed at us, and I felt my heartbeat stutter. Oh.

"I'm not that hard to find." I shifted out of her grasp gently, suddenly uncomfortable. "Just follow the trail of judgmental people. They make way for me. How nice of them."

Both Caroline and Elena frowned, but I shrugged, nonplussed. It's not like I was really fazed by it, anyway.

"Has anyone…?" She asked, peering down at me. I felt incredibly small.

"I'm not bleeding, so no." I meant it to come out jokingly, but it fell flat halfway. "I'm good, Care. It's gonna be all right. Don't be a worrywart."

She rolled her eyes, hand on her hip. "It's a part of my charm. Just don't hesitate to tell us if anything happens."

"I'm sure you'll know if something does. News always travels fast here."

"We're serious," Elena said, leaning against me. "We got you. No more secrets this time. Let us know if anyone even _tries_ to do something."

"I promise." I could see Bonnie's entire stance change from the corner of my eye. She rocked back on her heels, jaw going slack. "Incoming."

Both of them turned at the same time to where I jerked my chin. Bonnie followed Stefan as if in a daze, and I realized with a start that he was headed toward us.

 _Great_ , I thought, mentally groaning. Caroline was all but eye-fucking Stefan, and Elena looked as if she'd forgotten how to breathe. I tried to shuffle behind them, not expecting him to be so forward, but Caroline noticed and snatched my wrist, one perfect brow raised in question. I scowled at her but stopped to smile once Stefan locked eyes with me.

"Stefan," I said—and then I did the _dumbest thing in the world_ and punched his shoulder. I could've slapped myself. "Welcome to Mystic Falls High. You settling in okay?"

Half of what I said didn't even register in my ears. I could see Bonnie's head pop over Stefan's shoulder as he tried not to laugh. I cringed internally.

"Sam. Yes, everything's been good." He locked eyes with Elena at that moment, the sheer intensity of his stare making it feel as if the world stopped moving. I took a small step back, almost bumping into Caroline. "Although I don't know anyone here. Except you, of course."

"And here I thought I was enough." I grinned, then grimaced. _Was that flirty? Or just playful? I don't know what the fuck I'm doing and oh my god everyone's staring at me shit_ — "This is Caroline and Elena, and behind you is my cousin Bonnie."

I wasn't expecting to have to deal with this so soon, and for some reason all the ease and comfort built between Stefan and I washed away, and I was left with a sudden, overwhelming worry of seeming too close to him and giving something away and _Elena_ —I didn't want to seem interested in him. Jesus _Christ_ , I was such an awkward fucking mess.

As Stefan introduced himself to my friends, I reminded myself that I wasn't here to interfere with romantic relationships. I didn't have to stop being myself just to appease some weird connection with canon and keep Elena and Stefan together. If they were going to end up together, they would. It's not like the whole school didn't think I was gay already, so there was really no reason to play it safe. I didn't even really know why I was so anxious or felt strange. Maybe it was the fact that this was really happening, and Stefan was _really here_ in front of me, and it was the start of season one, and that I'd be meeting Damon soon. My nerves were fried, and I couldn't focus on one thought for long; I couldn't relax. I was scared and excited, and then _more scared_ , and the whiplash was giving me a headache.

I didn't feel prepared enough, and maybe that was the biggest worry of them all. I couldn't even keep my shit together long enough for something as important as this—the first time my friends meet Stefan. I'd been relying too much on Sara for my composure, and it was starting to show.

"…to class. I'll see you all around, hopefully."

Stefan walked away with a nod and a smile, and a few seconds later the bell rung. The moment he rounded a corner, I heard about two different _oh my god's_ and one long whistle. So much for the romantic moment outside the men's room.

* * *

The rest of the school day passed by without fuss. I caught Stefan staring at Elena twice, and Matt glaring daggers at both of them.

 _You suck_ , I wrote. _I'm so uncool and terrible at keeping my head and not overthinking everything and you had to go and make it worse. Also, quit making heart eyes at Elena. You're hella unsubtle._

 _You didn't tell me about how to act today, so I improvised. For a psychic, you forget to cover a lot of bases. And I'm not trying to be subtle. Now pay attention to class._

 _Insult me again and I'll put vervain in your hair gel._

I passive aggressively ignored him for the rest of the class period.

* * *

Jeremy shut the door behind us, hiking his backpack further up his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen. It was bright, clean, and smelled faintly of lemon. Miranda sat at the table, surrounded by a box of papers, mugs, and different colored pens. She looked up as we entered, tired smile already gracing her lips.

"Hi, honey," she greeted, patting Jeremy's arm as he neared her. "Hi, Sam. How was your first day of school?"

Jeremy sighed but I gave a slight laugh. "Eventful, yet somehow boring at the same time. The usual."

"A contradiction. Aren't those always lovely?"

"When they fit our needs, yeah. Best of both worlds. Kinda makes you think."

"They always leave you wondering, and rarely give you answers."

Jeremy pulled his head out of the fridge, scowling. "Are you two speaking in riddles?"

"Can a man drown in the fountain of eternal life?" I replied.

"Yeah, _okay_ , you're not getting any ice cream." Jeremy shoved the second bowl he'd set out for me away. "I'm not going through this again."

Miranda softly snorted, smoothing her hair out of her face. "Just for that, serve her twice as much ice cream. And you don't get any sprinkles."

"Mom!" Jeremy huffed, doing a ridiculous motion with both hands and nearly dropping the tub nestled in the crook of his arm.

"Jeremy," Miranda mimicked his tone, raising a brow at him while somehow also looking at her papers.

"Thanks, Mrs. Gilbert, but I don't think that's necessary. Maybe next time, though."

"Of course, I'll keep that in mind."

"You're both terrible." Jeremy cradled his bowl to his chest, trying to hide the bottle of sprinkles in the pocket of his hoodie. They rattled as he moved.

I served myself ice cream, pretending I hadn't heard. "Sure we are."

"All right, kids," she said, breaking off our impending argument. "I'm going to be here for a while, getting these documents filled out. You remember the rules."

"Door open and no loud music." I nodded, smirking at Jeremy as I dug out a particularly large scoop.

He rolled his eyes. "And five feet of space between us at all times."

"If you keep joking about that, I just might enforce it." She grabbed one of her many mugs and took a sip, the bags under her eyes suddenly striking. "Just don't play music _too_ loud, honey. I trust you with the door."

Jeremy visibly relaxed, but his expression tightened at the sight of her. "Thanks, mom. If you need anything, just let me know. I'll be down in an hour or two to make dinner. Sam's gonna help."

Miranda's shoulders sagged a little less, head perking up. "You're not going out this evening? Elena messaged me for permission to go to the Grill."

"No, we didn't feel like it. We're just gonna do some homework and chill."

There was a warmth to her smile that wasn't there before. "Okay, I'll try not to bother you two."

"You're never a bother, Mrs. Gilbert." I grabbed the sprinkles from Jeremy's pocket and poured some on top of my mountain of ice cream, grinning at his affronted huff.

Jeremy's room was as messy as ever, his backpack finding its place among scattered clothes on the floor. He toed off his shoes and changed shirts, spoon in his mouth all the while. I picked up a few things, putting it into a pile in the corner. He just shrugged at me. "So much for getting high."

"It's all good. It was just a suggestion, anyway." I plopped down onto the edge of his bed. "I just wanted to hang out."

"And eat all my ice cream," he said, sitting beside me. "We can still smoke, but it's gonna have to be near my window and only a few hits. We have to be able to make dinner we can actually eat, you know."

"Sounds good. Wanna do it now, before our ice cream melts?"

Jeremy nodded, closing his door, and we went through our usual routine. I put on music, he locked the door and covered the bottom of it with a towel. I opened the window and checked to see if anyone was outside, he brought the weed out and grabbed a lighter. I rolled a joint, he dimmed the lights. I pulled my hair back, he set an air freshener on his shelf.

I went first, and only took one hit. I pretended to do three, not actually inhaling the smoke and just letting it fill my mouth. Jeremy did four, his tolerance higher than mine. I made sure the room smelled like Spring and _not_ weed, turning on a fan to let the air circulate outside.

I felt a little lighter mid-way through my ice cream; Jeremy was already jelly on the floor, ice cream gone and eyes half-mast. I pulled my bag closer to me, then. Jeremy's present wasn't wrapped, the new pencil set visible and smooth to the touch.

"Hey, Jer. I got you a little somethin'." I slowed my speech on purpose, trying to pretend my mind was foggier than it actually was.

"Hmm?" Jeremy leaned on his elbows. "What do you mean?"

"For you," I said, handing him the box. "Your current set was running low, thought you might need an upgrade."

Jeremy's smile was easy, sincere. He was more relaxed due to the weed and his walls were down. He leaned his forehead against my shoulder, reminding me of a little boy, his shaggy hair tickling my collarbone.

"Thanks Sam. Really appreciate it." He hugged me loosely, eyes bright, before making his way over to where he kept his sketchbooks. "Mind if I try it out right now?"

"Of course not. Go ahead."

I waited until he was deep into a drawing of an angel with black wings to leave the room. I told him I was going downstairs to wash our bowls and then to the bathroom. He just nodded in my direction and continued drawing.

The downstairs trip was quick, Miranda still engrossed in her papers. Her room was a little emptier than it used to be, boxes littering the right side of it; I assumed they were Grayson's belongings.

Maybe it was the faint high, but my concentration was sharper, and I was able to find the Gilbert journals quickly. They were in the closet, in a box toward the back. I grabbed them and shoved them inside my messenger bag that I'd left in the hallway. Job well done. It almost felt too easy.

* * *

Elena had arrived an hour ago, her pantleg smeared in blood. Told me she'd tripped while at the cemetery, and that Stefan had been there. Apparently, he was squeamish of blood and had hightailed it out of there; I tried not to laugh. After, she'd gone into her room to get ready for the Grill.

Jeremy and I made dinner—chicken pasta with salad and garlic bread. My high had faded soon after getting the Gilbert journals, and Jeremy was more mellow, now. He kept eating the garlic bread, but other than that he seemed fine.

"Mom, I'm meeting Bonnie at the Grill." Elena had a coat slung over her arm as she leaned in to hug Miranda.

"How are you going to get there, honey?"

"Walking. I'll be getting a ride back from Bonnie."

"All right. Be careful, and please don't get home late. It's a school night. I'll wait up for you."

Elena smiled. "I won't be home late, I promise."

I smacked Jeremy's hand away from the garlic bread for the tenth time, shoving him in the direction of the lettuce. "You're on salad duty, kiddo. Quit eating."

"Elena, is everything all right?" Miranda suddenly asked, moving to stand.

I peered down the hallway, catching a glimpse of Stefan's hero hair and Elena's back.

"Yeah, mom, it's just a friend."

Jeremy leaned over my shoulder, garlic bread in hand. I rolled my eyes but didn't try to take it away. Miranda walked to the front of the house, her entire demeaner straightening into mom-mode. Jeremy snickered.

"I don't think I've met this friend, yet," Miranda commented, almost cautiously.

I backed further into the kitchen, hands up as if in surrender. "Yeah, no, not gonna watch that."

"You're missing out." Jeremy snickered and took another bite of his bread, looking extremely amused.

"Jer, salad duty. Don't make me say it again."

I could hear all three of them talking, and I winced in sympathy. With Miranda here, it wasn't going to be as easy as it was before for Elena and Stefan to see one another.

* * *

 _The Fell Family believed it should be I, not them, who protected the witch's spell book. But I feared she would haunt me from the hereafter. They mocked my fear but it was Giuseppe Salvatore who removed my fear. He told me he would protect the secret of the spell book. He said he would carry it to his grave._

I messaged Stefan as soon as I could, excited about what I'd found. Emily's grimoire was buried with Giuseppe Salvatore. The only question now was _when could we get it?_ Damon seemed to follow either Stefan or me, so we'd probably have to distract him, again. Though, this time, it had to be Stefan doing the getting and me doing the distracting.

 _What's our plan?_ I asked him. _All I got is that I distract and you steal. Not sure when, but it has to be soon. Tomorrow Damon is gonna make himself known. That's when real shit starts going down._

 _It won't be safe if you distract him. I'd also need enough time to dig up my father's coffin._

I checked the time; it was almost ten. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

This was a stupid idea.

Jeremy and I hung back, sitting on a log and watching people come and go. The bonfire warmed my legs, and there were red cups and beer bottles everywhere we looked. The stars were out, the music loud, and since I'd gotten here I've seen at least six couples heading to the woods hand in hand, but there were plenty more making out in plain view. It was a cliché high school party—made even more cliché by the fact that the 'losers' (i.e., Jeremy and me) were chilling just outside of it all, looking annoyed at the fact that we were here.

Jeremy handed me my second bottle. I leaned my elbows on my knees, picking at the label, replaying in my mind how fucking stupid of an idea this was.

"Tyler's here, on your nine." Jeremy rolled his eyes while taking a long swing of beer. "Dude's been eyeing you since he got here."

"Is he trying to see if he can still be an asshole from twenty feet away?"

He snorted. "I think he already knows he can."

"Just my luck, then."

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I checked my watch. Stefan was right on time. I promised him I'd let him get some time with Elena before going ahead and executing our plan, and I was suddenly grateful for that since I needed to down a whole lot more beer before I was mentally prepared.

"Is there anything stronger?" I asked, grimacing at the bitter taste for the twelfth time.

"I can go check, but I'm pretty sure there's just beer."

I shook my head, using the bottle to ease the shake in my hands, grip tight. "S'fine. Was just wondering."

Bonnie and Elena were together, Matt somewhere in the background. I'd lost Caroline fairly early, her blonde hair disappearing within the mass of teenagers. Stefan soon made himself known, and Bonnie snuck away in order to give them some privacy. I was three bottles in now, nerves smoothing down into something manageable.

"You know," I said, shifting from my stiff position and hearing my spine pop. "I'm glad Vicki didn't come."

"Is it 'cause Tyler won't be able to bother her?" Jeremy asked.

"Yeah. It's also…things like this aren't good for addicts. She wants to get better. She deserves that."

He nodded; I watched his hair flutter in the breeze. "She does."

My mouth felt dry and heavy, stomach tense. The beer thrummed steadily in my bloodstream, but it wasn't enough. _Stupid goddamn plan._ I couldn't even blame anyone, either. It had been my idea, and I'd spent most of the night convincing Stefan that it, in fact, was _not_ suicidal and stupid. Which it _was_ , and I felt bad for lying so adamantly, but he didn't need to know that, for sure.

It's only that the grimoire needed to be hidden. And after today, Damon would reveal himself to Stefan and start wreaking havoc on Mystic Falls. I wanted the upper hand, wanted all the game pieces on my side before he even had a real chance to start worming his way onto the council or killing innocent people. He'd start keeping an even tighter rope on Stefan and me—and digging up your dad's corpse isn't exactly something you can explain in a non-suspicious way.

Somewhere around two in the morning, I'd remembered the fact that Damon would attack and almost kill Vicki. I couldn't let that happen, and so this stupid fucking plan was born. It'd taken until almost four in the _freaking_ morning to convince Stefan that, no, this wasn't going to end terribly, and, yes, I'd have it all under control. Fourth bottle in hand, I hated myself a little more.

The plan was simple in theory— _wasn't everything?_ —but executing it would probably result in me dying in the dumbest way possible. I was supposed to get drunk (not really, but I would play it up) and wander into the woods. Stefan was supposed to leave ten minutes after I disappeared to go dig up the grimoire, hoping (fucking _hoping_ ) that Damon's attention was on me and not him. I'd make sure to put on a good show. Which led to the second part of the plan.

I needed to buy Stefan time, about an hour or so, for him to use his super speed to dig up Giuseppe. Me wandering into the woods wouldn't be enough to keep Damon interested, so I planned on going to the Falls and stripping down to my underwear for an "impromptu" swimming-sesh. Hopefully, he'd see my stupid actions for what they were: an easy target to attack. Vicki wasn't here, and therefore wouldn't be the one to get attacked. I wanted to make sure it was me, instead, and not someone else. Drunk, alone, and almost naked seemed like it'd catch Damon's eye—it _had_ to. I'd have to draw it out for as long as possible, buy Stefan as much time as I could, and then let myself be almost killed.

I didn't have any plans to die tonight, so I had backups. Stefan was one, obviously. If he returned to the party and hadn't heard anything from me, then he'd check for me near the Falls. He had no idea that I would be trying to get attacked, or else he would've refused to go ahead with the plan. He also had no idea that I flushed the vervain out of my system. Last time I had ingested it was the day before yesterday, and I'd drank lots of water since this morning. I'd forgotten to take it in my tea like I did every night, and I was thankful that I'd been so preoccupied with the Gilbert journals to care.

I didn't want any in my system, or else Damon would probably be even more suspicious of me. I couldn't be compelled, so realistically speaking, I shouldn't _need_ to drink it. Last thing I wanted was more red flags going up for him.

My second backup were my friends. I'd probably be gone for a while, and they'd notice and start looking for me. With everything going on in school, and Tyler's threat hanging over my head, I knew they'd jump to conclusions and try to figure out where I was. At least, I hoped. There was a lot of hope riding on this—much more than I was comfortable with (especially with my safety on the line, here). I didn't know for sure that someone would get worried about me, or that Stefan would get back in time. He'd be angry at me after, knowing I'd willingly put myself in danger, but I'd take that over being dead. And if I died…well, the prospect scared me, of course. But there was still the possibility of going back home, and it was all I had to cling on to.

Five bottles in, and everything moved so weirdly when I walked. I'd been grabbing another for Jeremy—his third—and felt my inhibitions lower enough to grab one for myself, too, despite the fact that I'd not finished the one I left with him. Everything felt easier, warmer, and the beer started to taste like water on my tongue.

"Fuck, I feel good," I said, laughing to myself. The lights looked especially pretty, the bonfire mesmerizing. "I'm gonna go to the restroom and walk around for a little bit."

Jeremy frowned. "By yourself?"

"What're you, my mom? Of course by myself."

"You sure? You're kinda drunk. I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'm always kinda drunk. I'll be fine." I looked over the sea of people. "You should go find Matt and make sure he stops staring at Stefan and Elena, or else his eyes are gonna fall right outta his head."

I poured the remaining beer into a single bottle, my sixth and final drink. It was left a little more than halfway full.

Jeremy sighed, standing up and leaning in close. "Don't take too long. I'll be with Matt."

"Thanks, mom." I patted his cheek, giggling. "Don't do anything fun while I'm gone!"

"With Matt being a buzzkill, I don't think you'll miss anything."

I sloppily saluted him before leaving in the direction of the restrooms. "See ya."

 _You're good to go in 10. Msg me when you're done._

I asked someone for directions to the Falls, stumbling my way toward where they pointed. I finished my sixth bottle, swiping a seventh on a whim. The trees blended together, a smear of shades of green and brown. I had to use the trunks to guide myself, roots and bushes and loose dirt making it hard to walk. A few minutes in I realized I was lost, and the trees weren't thinning out like they should, but getting denser.

"Shit," I said, filter completely gone. "Like a goddamn maze out here."

I stopped, swaying in place. I could see some light where I came from—faint, but there—but everywhere else was just dark and cold. I'd already forgotten where the girl had told me to go. I facepalmed.

I kept going, pushing forward, hoping I'd find the river and could follow that until the Falls. There was barely any moonlight above, the ground just a dark shadow. It smelled nice, though. No longer like smoke and beer, the air fresh, instead, and clean. I inhaled deeply, wrinkling my nose at how my breath reeked of beer. I took a long sip at that, sighing. It tasted like nothing, now. My vision spun, blurry at the edges. Moving was harder, feet unsteady, but I managed to not fall.

I couldn't see my watch, but it felt like ten minutes had passed. I hoped Damon was with me instead of Stefan, and that I hadn't fucked everything up royally.

"Where…am I going?" I asked no one, arms outstretched in confusion. "God—fuck. _Fuck_ , ugh."

I suddenly slipped, beer sloshing over the rim and onto my hand, and that upset me more than being on my ass on a bunch of rocks. The trees lessened a few feet away, making way for stones and shrubs and something dark. _The river_ , I realized, heaving myself up and out of the woods.

The water sparkled under the moonlight, looking like it was filled to the brim with tiny diamonds. Further down I could see the water dam, and further up there was the Falls. I wondered briefly how I would get up there, already making my way toward it. It was high up, the sound of rushing water exciting me the closer I got to it. I could feel the mist swirling around my face like a caress, cool and gentle.

The rocks made it more difficult to walk, shoes not finding the right kind of purchase on them and knees shaky. I finished my beer and tossed it to the side, mentally wincing at my lack of care for the environment but knowing I couldn't look too mindful.

The bottom of my jeans were wet and muddy, but I felt accomplished as I stood in front of the Falls. The water looked deep enough, the top even farther than expected, and I decided swimming here was better than climbing up and probably falling because my coordination was shot to hell.

I sat on a big rock by the shore, fumbling with the laces on my shoes and struggling to pull them off.

"Fuckin' butter fingers," I huffed, resorting to kicking them off instead. My socks followed, then my jeans. I wiggled my toes in the grass, happy there wasn't any mud over here to get all over my clothes. I peeled my shirt off next, tossing it with the rest of my stuff on the rock. I had made sure to wear good underwear, stuff I could rely on to preserve some modesty but that was also comfortable. I left my mom's necklace on, the weight of it reassuring, and then dipped one foot in the water.

I descended slowly, letting my skin get used to the temperature. The dark pool parted smoothly, lapping at my skin. I was knee deep when I heard something by the tree line, but I refused to look up. The beer kept me calm, and I controlled my breathing to keep my heartrate normal. The water almost touched my hips when another noise sounded, this one closer, and I suddenly had the fear that an animal was out there.

I all but panicked then, cutting swiftly through the surface in a dive and squeezing my eyes shut. The water got colder the further I swam, and I sensed the drop in the river, the deepest part of it just under my belly. A combination of every shark and alligator movie played out in a rapid succession in my mind, and I kicked my legs under me and floated up.

Opening my eyes, I breathed heavily. My toes curled, legs stretching, and I touched something smooth and slimy and had to force myself not to start splashing around like a paranoid idiot. I let myself drift toward the shore, waiting until there was a line of rocks beneath my feet and I could stand, water up to my shoulders. This was good, this was safe. Now that I was here though, I didn't know what to do. I could swim around, maybe sit half naked on a rock or something. I had to hope Damon was out there, watching, and I had to keep him from losing interest.

 _There are no sharks and there are no alligators in this river_ , I told myself, floating on my back. _I will not be eaten alive by some prehistoric monster that lives below me. Nope._

I did lazy laps after a little while, sometimes going under and sometimes freaking out. The beer kept me warm, a steady flow of heat that wasn't sucked away by the cold of the river. It clung to me, like a second skin.

"It's dangerous to be out here, swimming on your own."

I nearly choked on water, dragging a hand across my eyes to clear my vision. I blinked twice, stunned.

"There has been a recent animal attack in the area. You wouldn't want to be next, would you?"

All my layers of control shattered at once. The shadowed figure moved closer, slow and threatening. I told myself that he wasn't real, even as moonlight spilled over him and I felt my breath catch in my throat. I'd been hoping on him attacking me but hadn't prepared for…for actually _seeing_ him. For him speaking to me. He looked so…beautiful. I took a step forward without meaning to.

"Just having fun," I replied, voice scratchier and higher than usual. The water licked at my throat. "I haven't heard of any animal attacks."

I clenched and unclenched my hands below the surface, nails biting into my palms. Somewhere, above us, a bird took off.

"Two people were killed yesterday," he stated casually, as if it meant nothing to him that two people were now dead—and, _it really didn't_ , I knew. It took all I had to not visibly gulp anxiously; he stood by the shore, now, head cocked and eyes dark like any predator's. "You could be next."

"I could be a lot of things." I swam backwards, needing to move, my skin beginning to itch. "It's Mystic Falls. What's the worst that could happen?"

I felt like an idiot saying it, like I was jinxing something irreversible. But I had to seem drunk and dumb, make myself an easy target. I stared at the sky, now allowing myself to swallow thickly. _Think of this as a game. You gotta play your cards right. Don't think, just do._

"And who're you to preach about safety when you're wandering around here all alone, too, anyway?" My speech was slurred just a tiny bit, muscles relaxing under my concentration. _Just a game._

"I'm patrolling the woods, doing my civic duty," he replied, just as cheekily, if not more so.

"Does that include watching half naked girls swim at night?"

He smirked; I could see _that_ in the darkness, still, somehow. "As a concerned citizen, yes. I had to make sure you weren't hurt."

I stopped swimming, eyeing him curiously, the abrupt halt in movement making my head feel foggy. "How do I know you aren't more dangerous than what's in these woods?"

He tilted his head back, and the light hit him _just_ right—I was suddenly drowning in blue. Heat coiled deep in my belly, mixing sweetly with the adrenaline and fear and making my bones tingle. I was excited and scared and hated myself, because I knew better than to be fooled by a pretty face, but this was _Damon Salvatore_ and…I was a goner. A drunk goner.

"You don't." He seemed amused, lifting my shirt with a finger before letting it fall back with the rest of my clothing. "Why don't you come on out of the water?"

I gave a full body shudder at that. This was it. I wanted to check the time, see how much I'd managed to buy Stefan, but couldn't without looking suspicious. Instead, I settled on drawing it out for as long as possible.

"Why don't you come in here instead? There's plenty of room." I gave a drunken giggle as I gently pushed myself back against the water, wiggling my fingers along the ripples the movement caused on the water's surface.

He looked at me, face again shrouded in shadow, all sharp angles and smooth skin. I licked my lips; he smirked.

"Come out of the water, Sam."

I froze mid-breath. His words burned like acid and I recoiled as if I'd been hurt. The beer in my belly churned and I was going to be sick.

"How…how do you know my name?" I asked, because it was the only thing I could think of saying. I already knew the answer to it, but I didn't know why he was being so bold with me. _Does he know about Stefan? About our plan?_

"I think you'd be surprised at what I know." He smiled, but it was a cruel, unkind thing. "Now, don't make me ask again," he continued, although we both knew he hadn't exactly _asked_ , before.

It was stupid—this plan was _stupid_ —but I narrowed my eyes and raised my chin anyway and did exactly that. The air was freezing against my wet skin, the tips of my fingers and toes pruney from being submerged for so long. Rivulets ran down my body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Water splashed around my calves, and I didn't stop moving until the grass was back beneath my feet, Damon some inches away.

"What do you want?" I sounded braver than I felt, sounded braver than anyone standing half naked and dripping wet in front of a homicidal vampire had any right to. "And who the fuck are you?"

I expected fangs to rip into my neck any second now, the beer still making it hard to focus. My heart rate picked up when Damon locked eyes with me, and _goddamn_ —the show was nothing compared to this.

"You'll know soon enough." He peered down at me, gaze calculating. "Don't wander off into the woods alone or talk to strangers. Some aren't as nice as me."

"Wha—? Wait!" I stumbled forward, lungs forgetting how to work for a second. "I-I…you're not gonna hurt me." The question came out sounding more like a statement, the words tense and curt. "Why're you—"

"All in due time, Sam. You ask too many questions." He turned, heading toward the tree line. Over his shoulder, he said, "Lace looks good on you. But maybe try another color next time," and then he disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared.

I stood there, fixed in place. Rubbing my face, I tried my best to shake the tremors from my hands. It'd been almost fifty minutes since I left the party, forty since Stefan left and Damon exited the clearing without feeding. The sudden realization that he might go and find someone else to attack made me hastily put on my clothes, the task difficult due to the water that clung to my skin despite the time that had passed.

I was still tipsy, unable to really move too fast for fear of falling. Once I entered the woods again, I tried to retrace my steps. But everything was uncomfortable. My clothes stuck to me awkwardly, hair matting the sides of my face and neck, and I couldn't feel my hands or feet. The woods were dark and dense again, the ground somehow harder than before to walk through. I tripped so many times I tore a hole in the knee of my jeans, my shoes scuffed beyond salvaging. I sent a quick _Hurry_ to Stefan, telling him Damon wasn't watching me anymore. There was dirt under my nails and I tasted it in my mouth—or maybe that was just the aftertaste of beer.

I slumped against a tree, tired. I felt so turned around, every tree looking like an exact replica of the last. There was no music or lights, just darkness and whatever moonlight managed to squeeze through the leaves above. Whenever I blinked, light blue eyes stared right back at me. It took me a few minutes to realize it was just a memory and not actually Damon. I almost threw up.

My palms were scraped up from grabbing at trees as I passed. I kept thinking I was on the right path only to become discouraged when I found no people. I'd been wandering around for twenty minutes, and Stefan hadn't replied to my message. Nothing had gone as planned, the thought of Damon having known everything made my head spin. Maybe he'd sabotaged it all, kept Stefan from leaving and then toyed with me before going off and killing someone innocent.

If only he knew—if only I could really prove to him that Katherine wasn't in the tomb. Maybe he'd believe my abilities, but Katherine was a whole jar of crazy I'd be suicidal to try and touch. I just wanted him to understand, to let me do what I had to, to stop _killing_ people and being such a dick. I kicked at a rock, frustrated. I wished I wasn't fucking lost in the woods at night.

My phone buzzed and I reached for it, the dampness of my jeans making it challenging to yank out. I completely lost my footing over a tree root for not paying attention, sprawling on the ground. My reflexes were slow, face almost slamming against the dirt. I hissed, most of the impact having landed on my knees. Goddamn _idiot._

The tree root moved under me then, and I nearly screamed because _oh my god it's a snake Jesus fucking fuck_ but instead had the air sucked right from my chest when my eyes fixated on Jeremy's pale face. He groaned, the sound soft and pained. Blood was smeared along his throat.

Son of a bitch.

"Jeremy," I whispered, cupping his cheeks. His lids fluttered at the touch. "Hey, it's me—it's Sam. Can you speak?"

He abruptly gripped my wrist, hard enough that I knew there'd be bruises there come morning. His eyes flew open, wide and terrified and unfocused; his lips parted on a silent cry. He gurgled, suddenly pushing me away.

"I'm Sam, I'm Sam, I'm Sam," I chanted, hands hovering uselessly over him. "Shh, shh, please don't move so much. I gotta cover your wound."

Jeremy clutched at his throat, blood spilling between his fingers. I used a sharp rock to cut the bottom of his shirt, mine wet and dirty from the river. He let me wrap it around his neck, a messy knot holding it in place.

"Can you stand?" I heaved him against my shoulder, the weight almost crippling. "We have to walk, but I got you."

He sagged in my arms, weak. I couldn't bridal style carry him but did my best to drag him alongside me. His feet moved sluggishly, helping us along.

"What happened, Jer?" I asked, even though I knew. I asked even though I could sense someone in the woods with us, watching. Jeremy groaned again, going slack. I faltered, knees almost buckling, but I managed to stay upright, hoping I was headed in the right direction.

"Help!" I shouted, voice breaking in the middle of that single syllable. "Somebody help!"

Blood started to seep through the strip of shirt, enough that some dribbled down onto the forest floor, darkness upon darkness. Jeremy mumbled faintly, almost as if he was speaking to himself. I dragged us along faster at the sound of someone laughing, not expecting the relief that swelled in my chest—all kinds of horror movies banked on the fear factor of hearing creepy laughter while alone in the woods. But this was different, this meant _people_ and people meant _help._

I broke through a clearing, the sudden chatter of those around me shrill and loud. The woods had been like a vacuum—all sound sucked out. I slid down a small incline, shoes sinking in soft dirt and crunchy leaves. Jeremy gasped at the movement, fingers digging into my wrist. I winced but steadied him, the light from strung up lanterns glaringly bright and almost painful.

" _Help_!" People parted in shock, making way. I forced back a curse and readjusted my grip around Jeremy's waist, his arm sipping off my shoulders. " _Jesus_ —can someone help?!"

I caught his arm just barely, my entire body lurching with the weight. I gritted my teeth and pushed on, past those who just stared and in search of someone I knew, someone I trusted.

"Jeremy? Jeremy, oh my god!" Elena's voice rang clear, and I could've just about collapsed with relief. "What happened to him?"

"Something bit him." A boy from the crowd came forward and eased Jeremy's weight from my side. "He's losing a lot of blood. I'm gonna call an ambulance."

Matt caught me as I sagged then, heart beating fast enough to power a small city. I could still taste the water from the river and feel Damon's eyes on me and Jesus fucking Christ he tried to _kill Jeremy_ —

"Sam? Sam, let me do the talking." I hadn't realized the phone was already at my ear, 911 dialed and ringing. He gently pried it from my death grip, one arm still around my back and supporting me. "It's okay, just sit down."

"Back up, please! He needs space." Elena had one hand on Jeremy's throat, the other against his cheek. "Come on, Jer. Open your eyes."

At the farther end of the crowd was Stefan. His face was as pale as a sheet and stricken with panic. He walked backwards and blurred into the woods. I held onto Matt as we waited for the ambulance.


	15. Chapter 15

**author's note:** _hello again. it feels like forever since I've posted, but it's just been two months. i'll explain everything at the end of this chapter. thank you for waiting ~_

* * *

 **...**

* * *

"You're _kidding_ me."

"No, Bon. I'm not." I bounced impatiently on the balls of my feet, eyes flicking from side to side. "Just—tell me if you're okay with this or not. Stefan can't just stand on our porch all night."

"You-you just sprung this on me! You want me to—?" she stopped, making an aborted movement with her arms. "This is _too_ much."

"I know! I know, trust me I _really_ do, but this can't wait. You either say yes or no, but we can't have him outside our house." I did another frantic sweep, expecting Damon to jump from the shadows any second now. "I'm sorry, this isn't fair to you at all. You're not sure, you can say no. I just need an answer, so Stefan can be anywhere other than _here_."

"I…should probably go," Stefan cut in, brows pinched in concern. "I don't want to cause any distress."

"No no, it's fine. I-I," she paused, sucking in a breath and glancing at me. I felt her fingers brush the back of my hand, the silver of my bracelet catching on the porch light. She seemed to notice too and swallowed, teeth nibbling on her bottom lip; I leaned in closer to her. "It's fine. I'm just…this is so sudden."

He nodded in understanding, already taking a step back. "I understand. This doesn't—"

"Stefan," Bonnie seemed to steel herself before continuing, white-knuckled grip on the door frame and eyes locked with his, "please come in."

Stefan gaped like a fish out of water, and it would've been hilarious if it weren't for the heart attack I felt coming on from sheer paranoia.

Yanking him inside, I kicked the door shut, hissing, "Thank _goodness_. I thought I was about to die." I took a deep, stabilizing breath before ushering Stefan down the hallway and into the living room. "Bonnie, get the sage out. Stefan, stay away from the windows."

I closed the curtains, smoothing the material down with my hands to make sure someone couldn't see inside at all, following it with a quick once over the entire house. I had to make sure everything was locked and shut. Soon Bonnie's soft chanting and the smell of sage wafted around me.

"So," I said, nudging Stefan into a chair and settling down onto the sofa beside him. "Where's the grimoire?"

"Safe in the boarding house." He pressed his hands together, weary. "What happened tonight?"

"That's a loaded question," I grumbled, rubbing my temples. "Since Vicki wasn't at the bonfire tonight, someone else had to be attacked. I…I thought I could distract Damon, thought I was prepared for if he decided I would be a good replacement option, but he just—he was just all ominous and then left. After that he attacked Jeremy. I have no idea why he was even in the woods in the first place."

"He was looking for you," Bonnie murmured, warm against my side. "He told us you'd been gone for half an hour and were pretty smashed. He got in Tyler's face, thinking he'd done something to you, but I knew he hadn't since I'd been keeping an eye on him all night." She snorted then, but her arms were wrapped around her middle, shoulders hunched. "So, we all split up and started looking for you. And you found him instead."

"Fuck," I spat. _This was my fault. All of it. This whole night had been a disaster, even with the grimoire._ "Do you know how easy Damon had it? He just had to take the bait. I was literally giving myself over to him, yet he had to go and find one of the few people on vervain to take a bite out of." I tossed my hands in the air. "Now I have to swear Jeremy to secrecy and make sure his mom doesn't even get a whiff of this being related to a vampire. She's gonna _freak_."

"You were _offering_ yourself up to Damon?" Stefan sounded angry, his forehead doing that thing where the wrinkles seemed to multiply by the second. "Is this why you were adamant about going through with the plan? You _wanted_ him to attack you?"

"When you say it like that it makes it sound worse than it was." They both glared at me. "Fine—okay, _okay_! It was a stupid plan, all right? I never claimed it was good in the first place. I just wanted to take one for the team. He wouldn't have killed me."

"That's the thing, Sam. There was no guarantee of that. You would have most likely been killed because Damon isn't sloppy. He doesn't leave loose ends."

"In my vision he didn't kill Vicki! She survived the attack—so maybe you _don't_ know Damon as well as you _think_ you do."

Bonnie shifted closer to me, whispering, "Who's Damon again?"

"Stefan's brother."

Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose—something I'd never been aware people actually _did_ outside of books—breathing deeply to calm himself. "How am I supposed to trust you when you have little concern for your life? You said you wanted to do right by this town, yet you're acting like the opposite."

"Hey, we needed the _grimoire_!" I spluttered, indignant. "We couldn't wait any longer and this was our best shot. I didn't like lying to you, but what other choice did I _have_?"

"Whoa, okay. I know we have a privacy spell up and all, but you two need to calm down." Bonnie laid a hand on my shoulder and locked eyes with Stefan. "You can argue later. Thankfully no one was killed tonight, and Jeremy had vervain in him. We need to figure out what's going to happen. Since he's on vervain, he can't be compelled—"

"That wasn't ever on the table," I cut in, sharper than I'd intended to be. I forced my voice to lose its edge. "We can trust Jeremy. Compulsion wouldn't work regardless; Stefan's diet makes it so it's harder for his vamp abilities to stick. It backfired with Vicki, it'll backfire with Jeremy."

Bonnie sighed, hand sliding off my arm. "I wasn't suggesting Stefan compel him, I was only stating what we know."

"Damon may try to compel him," Stefan interrupted. "Did Jeremy drink vervain or did he only wear the bracelet you gave him?"

"Both. I told him it helped with weight management and fat burning. He believed me."

"That means…Damon _drank_ vervain."

"Yeah? I'm assuming that's why he stopped feeding." I shrugged, confused at Stefan's expression of shock. "Jeremy was still able to move and kinda talk. Vicki was pretty out of it from what I remembered. Damon must've realized and hightailed it outta there."

"Sam." Stefan shifted forward in his seat, excitement lighting up his eyes. "Do you know what this means? Damon drank vervain. He was poisoned."

"Obviously," I said, frowning—but then it connected. "Oh…oh _shit_. Damon must be weak right now. I'm pretty sure he drank a bit before stopping."

"He might still be in the woods." Stefan stood, mind working faster than his mouth. "We need to cover our bases quickly. Tonight may be our last chance."

"In my vision, Damon talks to you tonight. He shows up at the boarding house after the bonfire, and you two get in an argument. He basically tells you he's stronger than you and sprinkles in a few threats for effect before leaving."

Stefan nodded, curl of his mouth showing his displeasure. "Is that all that happens?"

"No," I admitted. "After the whole thing with Damon, you check on Elena and spend a few hours at her place talking. Vicki wakes up and tells Matt that what attacked her was a vampire. Damon sees Caroline at the Grill and—oh my god, _Caroline_."

"What? What happens with Caroline?" Bonnie asked, trying and failing to keep the panic from her voice.

"Damon—that fucking asshole—I will not let him anywhere _near_ Caroline. Where's my phone? I need to check on her."

" _Wait_." Bonnie tugged me back down beside her firmly. "You can't keep doing this. I thought you were telling Stefan everything—you made it sound like you weren't working alone in this—but you're keeping things to yourself. And we need to know, Sam. Please."

I scrubbed at my jaw, tired. "Look—in my vision, Caroline is in a low spot. Damon finds her at the Grill and starts using her as a means to get close to Elena. She doesn't have vervain, he fucks with her head, he abuses her. I don't know if that'll still happen but I'm not leaving Caroline without a warning. Compelled consent is _not_ consent."

Stefan squeezed his eyes shut, sighing deeply through his nose. "We'll make sure that doesn't happen. Where is she?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." I pulled away from Bonnie gently, grabbing my bag from the floor and rifling through it. "She told me she was going home. She'd been drinking but Matt gave her a ride. Stefan, did Caroline hit on you?"

Stefan looked confused by the question, head tilting like a puppy's would. "No. I barely saw her. Most of my night was spent with Elena. Did she approach me in your vision?"

"Yeah," I said, fingers coming into contact with my phone. "Was wondering, since that plays into the whole Damon thing."

"You're telling me Caroline goes home with Damon because of _Stefan_?" Bonnie asked, lips pursed in a manner that expressed her disbelief.

"We both know she wouldn't, but like Stefan said, we gotta cover our bases." I sent Caroline a quick text. "Look, don't question it. There's a lot of shit that happens in such a short amount of time. Even I'm bound to forget something—I probably already have—but I don't want to say _everything_ that happens because it might influence your decisions when it comes to things that I have no business meddling with, you know? Preventing death? Fuck yeah. Getting involved with drama and romance? _Hell_ _no_ ," I paused. "Unless it crosses over with the whole death prevention thing, then I _damn_ well will make it my business."

Bonnie snorted softly. "Great. You're doing everyone a solid." She patted her thighs, smoothing down the material of her pants. "What else do we have to do?"

"Take care of Jeremy and Miranda."

"How?"

"I just need to talk to Jeremy. Miranda on the other hand…" I trailed off. "She's probably already seeing all kinds of red flags. The best we can do is keep her suspicion as low as possible."

Stefan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Would you like me to take you both to the hospital?"

"I'd appreciate it. We're all friends so I don't think it'll look suspicious, just concerned. Bonnie can buffer between you and Elena if it gets awkward."

Bonnie slid on a jacket, rolling her eyes. "I can't believe I'm on hot boy and best friend romance duty."

"If Damon shows up you can set him on fire?" I suggested.

She huffed, shaking her head. "I don't even know what he looks like, but I'll hold you to that."

My phone vibrated, Caroline's text flashing on screen.

 _'i'm home. still kinda freaked about what happened. i'm all alone and my mom's pulling an all-nighter again.'_

"Sam?" I looked up, already halfway through typing a response. "You sure that's it?"

I could understand the underlying question Bonnie wasn't asking. _Is there anything else you're keeping from us?_ She didn't look accusing, her eyes soft. I let my lips turn up at the corners. "Yeah, that's it."

The box in my room with the moonstone was another thing, and I wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone. Not for now, at least.

"Let's go," I said, grabbing a hoodie and pulling it on. "I don't know when Jeremy'll wake up."

 _'Come over in an hour? Bonnie and I are heading to the hospital real quick. Bring whatever you need, we'll camp out in the living room. Think we still have the stuff for that blanket fort…'_

—

—

A single light illuminated the corner of Jeremy's hospital room, faint yellow spilling over his features. His skin was pale, lips chapped and slightly purple. White gauze covered the side of his throat, medical tape holding it in place. The IV bag next to his bed dripped steadily, machine whirring in the background. The chair Miranda had been sitting in was still warm, turned to face Jeremy.

Elena hovered by the entrance briefly, clutching her jacket to her body tightly. She smiled weakly at me before letting Bonnie lead her away, Stefan nodding at me meaningfully from behind her shoulder. A few seconds passed, the heart rate monitor beeping rhythmically. I reached for Jeremy's hand, curling my own around his gently.

"Hey, Jer," I said, running a thumb over his scraped knuckles absently. "Jesus Christ, I'm happy to see you. You weren't looking too hot a few hours ago. Last thing I—"

Jeremy gasped brokenly, rough fingers biting into my hand; I hissed involuntarily, jerking away in surprise. I looked up and stared into the dark hallows of his face, stuttering on a question. My hand stung distantly; I felt my stomach clench.

"Are you—"

" _Fuck_." Jeremy's eyes were wild, grip strong and breathing heavy. He whimpered softly, pulling me down with him as he slumped back against the bed. "Hurts like a bitch."

"Hey, hey. Do you want me to get a nurse? Up your painkillers?" I leaned over him, both hands being crushed between his, rapid fire of his heart beneath my fingertips.

"No," he groaned, somehow tightening his hold even more. I held back a flinch, trying to look soothing. "No please, I-I think it's here."

"What? What's here?" I looked around the room, suddenly fearful of the shadowed corners and vastness under his bed. _Had Damon been here? Were we too late?_

Jeremy tugged me forward, nearly knocking me off balance with surprising strength. "What attacked me. In the woods. How did you get here? Are you okay?"

Sweat beaded on his brow, vein on his forehead prominent. I released a breath at his questions, overwhelmed. "I'm fine, I got here with Bonnie and Stefan. What attacked you in the woods?"

The bruising on his throat from the bite peeked out from beneath the tape, swirls of blacks and blues leading into red and purple spots. Distantly, the beeping of the monitor registered. I nudged him down with a touch of my forehead, hands still tangled between us and pressed to Jeremy's chest.

"Sam," he said the word desperately, eyes burning. "It was a vampire. I know that sounds _crazy_ , but you have to believe me. It came out of nowhere and—and—"

"Shh, shh," I soothed, cheek against Jeremy's, his skin warm and clammy. "I believe you. But I need you to listen to me, please."

Jeremy's throat bobbed, jaw taut; he looked at me expectantly. "You do? Did you see it too?"

I nodded, squeezing my already bloodless fingers around his. "I'm so sorry that I have to ask this of you, but you gotta promise me you won't tell anyone about what hurt you. Just tell people that it was an animal. I'll explain everything soon, once you get released, okay? I promise."

"You want me to lie?" Jeremy looked incredulous. "Why?"

"I can't tell you right now, there's no time or privacy. Your mom's only downstairs to get coffee and'll be back soon. I need you to trust me."

He hesitated, lamplight lingering on the unhealthy color of his cheeks and dark smudges under his eyes. A slight sheen of sweat covered his face, lips twisted into a frown. "I already told my mom."

I pulled back, feeling the blood drain from my own face. "Wha—? _Shit_."

"Something tried to kill me and you want me to lie? What if it tries to hurt someone else? What if it comes back for me?" Jeremy's chest heaved, words tripping over one another in their haste to get out. "What're you _hiding_?"

My face crumpled, knowing I fully deserved the accusatory tone in his voice, but not expecting it to cut so deeply, ragged heat fogging up my vision. "I—I can't tell you right now, Jer. Your mom—"

"No, you _can._ You just don't want to." He pushed himself back, the loss of his touch hurting more than just my hands. "Something's up with you. You've been acting weird for months now, but recently something's off. You're different."

The floor felt unsteady under my feet, as if I'd fall straight through any second now. I should've prepared myself for this possibility. I wasn't Sara. I'd _never_ be. She and I were more different than similar, our way of thinking almost on opposite ends. How stupid was I to assume—seriously _assume_ —that everyone here would go on loving me all the same despite being someone else?

"You would never ask me to lie to my mom—or anyone, for that matter. You liked honesty, remember? Because everyone in this fucking town was fake and you _hated_ it." His lips trembled at the corners, and my entire world lurched forward as my knees gave out, holding on tight to the bedside railing. "You hated it more than anything."

"Jeremy—"

"Sam?" Miranda's voice sliced through the tension in the room, confused eyes trained on me. "Is everything all right?"

It took a moment to find my voice, dread pooling like ice in my stomach. "Yeah, I'm just… I'm still freaked out." Jeremy was pointedly not looking at me. "I-I should go home now…it's late."

Miranda patted my shoulder on my way out, smile soft and motherly. "Thank you so much. For finding him and getting him help."

"Yeah," I said, blinking back tears. "Yeah, of course."

—

—

I woke up with Bonnie's elbow pressed to my ribs and Caroline's arm against mine, sunlight filtering through the curtains and spilling inside the opening of our haphazardly made blanket fort. Morning came and went, school uneventful. Stefan hadn't received a visit from Damon the night before, Elena looked like she only got a few hours of sleep, and Jeremy would be released from the hospital tomorrow.

The thought of Jeremy was enough to knock the air from my chest, leaving a sour taste in my mouth that lingered throughout the day—or maybe it was just remnants of my hangover. The sky was bleak, and its weight seemed to hover above my shoulders, skin beginning to itch in that tell-tell way when my anxiety revved up high. I couldn't get out of class fast enough, especially when people kept staring the way they did, Jeremy's name whispered behind me. I had no idea what they could possibly be saying, but either way it bothered me more than it should.

Waving off Bonnie and Caroline, who had practice and wanted me to stay, I watched Elena get inside Miranda's car. She was skipping practice in favor of sleep. I smiled faintly at her when she passed.

Stefan pulled up moments later, window already down and shades perched upon his nose. My heart did the stupidest _flip flop_ at the sight, feeling like a cliché teenager in a romance movie where the cool new guy offers her a ride. It was endearing, really, the thought enough to ease the ache budding on my temples. I climbed inside, immediately spotting the grimoire in the area where your feet were supposed to rest.

Shoving it quickly in my bag, I got settled in. "Thank you."

Stefan nodded, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street. "The comet passes tomorrow," he said, by way of conversation.

I toyed with the radio, stopping only when I found a rock station. "Yeah. I…I'm kinda nervous, though."

"Before, you said that in your vision Damon attacks Vicki again and tries to out me to the town." I hummed in response, messenger bag clutched in my arms like a lifeline. "This is different. He knows Jeremy's on vervain, he won't try again. It's supposed to be rare here. The last thing he must've expected was the first person he attacked to have vervain in their system."

"And a mom who _knows_ about the supernatural," I added. "Your brother sure knows how to pick 'em."

"Have you seen anything else? Anything recent that can help us?"

I could already sense Stefan's disappointment before I spoke. "No…just what I told you."

"So we're going into this without knowing anything." Stefan glanced at me, lip quirking. "Kind of how it's supposed to be, right?"

I huffed a laugh. "Yeah, that's true. I…don't like it, though. I'm so used to knowing that what I've seen is fact that now that we've changed things I'm not—there's no way of knowing that what we're doing is the right thing. It's scary. And _that's_ an understatement."

Stefan didn't say anything for a while, scenery passing by in a green blur. I wondered how Jeremy was doing, if he had any nightmares like Vicki, if Damon's vampire face kept replaying in his memory. I didn't let myself think about him beyond that.

"Doesn't mean we can't prepare, though." My stomach rumbled then, and I grimaced, ignoring it. "So, we don't know what's gonna happen for sure, yeah, but we can try to figure it out. At least, piece together what we know and go from there." I shifted to face Stefan, foot tapping restlessly as my thoughts raced. "Damon's probably angry and very suspicious, Jeremy told his mom that what attacked him was a vampire—though honestly, she would've probably suspected either way because Damon wasn't exactly subtle. And there's also the whole Damon didn't attack me thing. There's gotta be a reason for that. He said something, _gah_ —I think it was like 'don't go in the woods' and like, just left. And it's been bothering me because he said my _name_. Like, why would he do that? Why would he let me know that he knew who I was? And then leave with just a fucking useless warning? He told me I'd know 'soon enough' what was going on—and that's just it. I'm freaked 'cause maybe he knows everything. About you and me and Zach and maybe even the fucking visions. But more likely," I slumped against the door, back of my head thudding against the cool glass, "he just knows _some_ things. Or has suspicions. Nothing as fact, but enough to make him want to, I don't know, scare me? Ugh, I'm giving myself a headache."

Resting my head in my hands, I breathed in and out through my nose, slow and steady. "I totally went off on a tangent there. Sorry."

Stefan sounded amused when he said, "It's fine. You seem to think better when you just let everything flow. Talking is therapeutic for you."

Heat bloomed under my jaw, and I scowled behind my fingers. "Isn't it for everyone?"

"Different things work for different people," he stated simply. "I feel like we could have made a lot of progress on mapping out the future if you had just spoken what you knew, rather than confining yourself to your room and trying to remember."

"Yeah, okay, whatever. This is totally not what we should be focusing on. We got a vampire and an overprotective mom to worry about. Which are essentially the same thing and if we don't figure something out I'm going to start arranging how I want my funeral."

Stefan tilted his head, curious. "Does that mean you don't want a traditional funeral for yourself?"

"Stefan," I hissed. " _Focus_."

A smile pulled at his mouth, but I could see him smother it almost immediately. "I don't think he knows everything. Maybe some of it, maybe most of it, the majority made up of only suspicions. Either way, I think we have the upper hand when it comes to Damon. The talisman is destroyed, and you have the grimoire. If he knew what was going on, he wouldn't have let me leave the bonfire yesterday. And he wouldn't have approached you only to leave you with a warning. Damon doesn't play nice. From what you've said—he only cares about Katherine. When he found out about Bonnie and that Emily had possessed her to destroy the talisman, he attacked her. If he knew what you'd done, then he would've acted similarly. And he doesn't know the grimoire can be used to open the tomb. So, what does he know? I think he knows you're a witch, and that something might be going on between us.

"My reason for being here is Elena and her resemblance to Katherine. Damon would know that our relationship wasn't romantic, which would lead him to question why we're as close as we are. He let you know that he knew who you were—meaning he knows that _you_ know who _he_ is. Which could be attributed to me, but why would I tell you about him? He, most likely, has no idea. The residents of Mystic Falls having access to vervain is another hint that something's not what it seems. He must have some idea that you—knowing who he is, being friends with me, _and_ being friends with Jeremy—know about vampires. That you are the reason why Jeremy had vervain in him."

Stefan drove past Bonnie's, turning left at the end of the street. I was so caught up in what he was saying that I almost missed it, only registering his actions once we were cruising into town.

"Zach leaving is another thing," Stefan continued, voice pitched low. "Everything is too much of a coincidence, but he probably has no idea how to put together the pieces."

"Do you think he'll try to play us, make it seem like he's the one with all the knowledge?"

"Yes. Right now, he's at a disadvantage. We know more than him _and_ we know that we know more than him. He doesn't know the last part, so he'll try for intimidation."

"Who'll he go for first?"

Stefan made a left turn, main part of the town sweeping into view. "You. He already spoke to you once, and that was before he attacked Jeremy and found out about the vervain. If he wanted to confront me, he would've done it already."

I hummed, wheels in my head beginning to turn.

"Miranda and Jeremy are also an issue. Before Zach left, he gave me important documentation regarding the council and everything relating to vampires. Miranda's a part of it, so if she hasn't already told the council about a vampire attacking Jeremy, then they will know soon enough."

"That's going to be a problem." Stefan pulled into a parking space behind the Grill. I pursed my lips and raised my eyebrows. "What're we doing here?"

"Damon doesn't know Miranda's on the council, at least I don't know how he _would_. Which means that whatever plan they come up with to find out who or where the vampire is, he won't see it coming."

"That's true. We have to figure out a way to keep from you being outed, then." I rubbed the back of my neck, Stefan ignoring my question making my anxiety bubble up. "Hey, what's going on?"

"You need to eat," Stefan said, and I could tell he was giving me an accusing look behind his shades. "Your skin is pale, your stomach keeps growling, and I can smell the alcohol in your sweat."

"Wow, you're a real charmer," I deadpanned. "I was gonna eat when I got home."

"Sam," Stefan shut the engine off, his tone screaming _mom_ —which was funnier than it had any right being, "you haven't eaten all day, you look like you slept only for three or four hours, and you're incredibly anxious at the moment. You would have gone home and tried to plan every detail for tomorrow."

I glared at him as he stepped out of the car. "What're you, my _therapist_? Don't act like—"

The door slammed closed, silence sharp and heady. I groaned in frustration, banging my fists against my thighs in annoyance when Stefan appeared next to me, tapping on the glass.

"Okay, _fine_." I opened the door way too aggressively, nearly hitting him in the process. "I'll eat _something_. But only if you promise it'll be takeout _and_ you're not going home until we finish talking."

Twenty minutes later with Stefan's car smelling like the inside of a McDonald's, I shoved fries into my mouth and made him pick up where we left off.

"I believe we've covered all our bases."

"I completely forgot everything you said before."

Stefan sighed, but his forehead crinkled in quiet amusement. "We have the upper hand. Damon's suspicious, but he doesn't have anything concrete. And the council will start hunting a vampire soon."

I licked the salt from my index finger, contemplative. "What do we do about tomorrow?"

"We make sure everyone stays together."

"That's...that's it?" I frowned into the takeout box. "I don't like that. We need to figure something else out. Damon's gonna—he's gonna be upset, right? He might confront either you or me. What're we gonna tell him? And do we have a plan if he doesn't believe what we say? What if we get separated? That plan's too simple."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "There's nothing we can say that'll make him believe us, not even the truth. This is because we have the power in this, not him. No heart to heart will work. We met through Zach and you found out I was a vampire. We're friends, we tell each other things, which is how you knew about Damon and vervain. He won't believe you, but the point is that you don't let him scare information out of you. He didn't hurt you last night, I don't think he'll hurt you tomorrow."

"We're so _fucked_ ," I muttered, sliding low in the leather seat. "That's all I'm hearing."

"I've asked around and no one knows anything about Katherine. There's no proof that she's alive."

The sudden change in conversation gave me whiplash. "She's with Mason Lockwood—that didn't get you anything?"

He shook his head. "I don't have many connections."

"What about Lexi? She doesn't know any people who could help?"

"Lexi?" Stefan looked surprised. "I…could try. I'm not sure who she could know but she's always been a social butterfly."

"Great. 'Cause honestly, if we don't get anything solid on Katherine being alive and well and _not_ rotting in that tomb, Damon's gonna try to kill everyone once he finds out there's no way to open it." I shoved more fries in my mouth, leg bouncing insistently. "Also, while you're at it, tell Lexi not to come to town for your birthday."

Stefan shot me a confused look. "What?"

I waited a beat before turning to him, eyeing him tiredly. "I'm not keeping stuff from you. I just don't think it's necessary for you to know _everything_ , you know? Like Lexi—just tell her not to come visit and everything will be okay. Explaining the whys and hows doesn't do much for progressing. It just holds us back."

The rest of the car ride passed quickly, Stefan soon driving into Bonnie's driveway. I gathered my stuff and said a hasty goodbye. When Bonnie came home, she started drilling me the second the smell of burning sage filled the living room.

"So," she began, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed. "What's going to happen tomorrow? Stefan and you were pretty vague."

I took a sip of scalding tea, soothing the burn to my upper lip with the tip of my tongue. "The comet passing is the same one that passed 145 years ago to seal those vampires in the tomb. It coming back means it can be unsealed."

"But you destroyed the talisman and have the grimoire, right?" She wrapped a blanket over her shoulders and sat down. "We should be fine."

"Technically, yeah," I shrugged, "but there's gonna be vampires rolling into town soon and they aren't gonna be very happy with me."

"Like Damon?"

"He's one of them," I said. "He's gonna be the hardest of 'em to control. I don't think convincing him that Katherine isn't in the tomb is an option anymore. Which means we risk him finding out about what we've done and killing everyone."

Bonnie hesitated, hands clasped together in her lap. She looked utterly exhausted, the bags under her eyes more prominent than usual. "How dangerous is he?"

I snorted. "Very. He only cares about Katherine. The rest of us, we're kinda screwed."

She rolled her eyes, but I could see the stiff lining of her shoulders. " _That_ makes me feel better."

"I try my best."

—

—

"You're planning something," Stefan observed, handing me my ice cream cone. "Am I going to be left out again?"

"I'm not planning something per say, more like _trying_ to plan something. There's a difference."

His expression conveyed that he didn't think so. "You're still keeping things from me."

I stopped walking, struggling to keep my body language casual. "Not the place."

"If I don't ask you here, you won't tell me at all."

"You wouldn't approve of anything I had to say anyway."

Stefan's brows raised. "Are you upset with me?"

"Are you upset with _me_?" I countered, knowing I sounded petty and childish but unable to help it.

"No, I just want you to be more honest with me."

I paused to lick at my ice cream, perhaps too forcefully. "I got a feeling he's gonna try to talk to me tonight."

We started moving again, always keeping ourselves in the thick of the crowd. A few kids ran in front of us, both holding bags of candy, their frantic mother trailing after them and apologizing to everyone they cut off profusely. I almost missed what Stefan said because of it.

"What are you thinking of doing if he does?"

I paused, considering. "I still don't know."

The sound of popcorn popping and people laughing struck me hard all of a sudden, hand holding the cone so tightly I felt it crack under my palm. I ignored the cool touch of slowly leaking ice cream on my skin and kept moving.

"You know, I-I should've figured this would've happened. Seeing the future, it's too good to be true, right? I change one single thing and I can't deal with the fact that everything after is uncertain. I worry and I worry and I can't sleep because of it. Because—because I know myself, Stefan. I know that if anyone dies because of me, or if I'm not able to save everyone…that it'll fucking wreck me. I'm not made for this. It should've never been me."

The ice cream somehow managed to taste like stale beer and river water, the feel of it on my tongue like dirt. My hand shook so much I had to hold the cone with both just to keep it from falling. I kept eating.

"I hate to say this, Sam, but I don't think you ever had a choice."

I spotted Elena through a gap in the crowd, peering down at her stack of flyers. Beside her was Bonnie, engrossed in conversation with her. I bit my bottom lip, worrying it between my teeth.

Stefan slowed to a stop, tugging on my elbow to get my attention. "You aren't responsible for everyone. This weight doesn't rest on your shoulders only. Your intentions are good, and you clearly want to help. That speaks enough in itself. You can't save everyone. Life doesn't work that way unfortunately."

"Then what was the point?" I snapped, heat zipping up the curve of my spine, hot and jagged. "What was the point of me knowing what I know if I can't use it to-to _help._ To improve what everyone in this goddamn town is gonna go through. Fucks sake, don't you understand? I'm useless, there's no point in me being here if I just have to go at it blind. Maybe I just made everything worse and we won't know until something terrible happens. And now I gotta worry about something as stupid as the—"

"Sam," Stefan interrupted, the warning clear in his voice. "We're in public."

"Yeah, I know _._ _You_ brought this up. I just wanted to…" I looked at the ice cream dripping down my forearm, bits of broken cone digging into my palm. I stared at it longer than necessary before tossing it in a trash bin nearby, heart beating fast. "Just—just, leave me alone. I'm not doing too hot and you don't deserve to hear me whining like a freakin' baby."

Stefan handed me a napkin, gentle green of his eyes never faltering. It made me want to scream and cry and punch him all at once. I settled for wiping down the trails of pink on my skin instead.

A beat passed, then another. Stefan's expression looked resigned. "My guess is you're planning on separating from the group and having him corner you. Maybe keep his attention for as long as you can, make sure his focus is on you and not on someone he could hurt. Except you're having trouble figuring out _how_ and it bothers you that you can't see and there's no easy answer to this." His pause was brief, but it weighed down on me all the same. "You care about him, don't you?"

"I care about everyone. That's my problem, huh? That's what's gonna get me killed?"

"Why are you so sure you will die?"

I huffed humorlessly, suddenly bitter. "How're you so sure that I won't? I don't even know if I should fight it."

Stefan pulled me aside suddenly, maneuvering me away from a pair of rowdy teens before they could knock into me. He sighed, for once looking much older than 17. I wanted to smooth the worry lines on his forehead, but that felt entirely too intimate. I settled for patting his arm.

"There's a lot you've been keeping from me, isn't there?"

I swallowed down disappointment, tasting the lie at the back of my throat before I even spoke. "I'm just having an existential crisis here. I'm not hiding anything from you."

He seemed unsure, cautious. Finally, he settled on, "You can't wait until Lexi gets back to me?"

I smiled faintly, corners of my lips barely ticking up. "I don't even know if he's gonna approach me or not. I just said I had a feeling."

"I trust your intuition. It's enough for me."

Familiar blonde curls bounced by, attached to an even more familiar pair of blue eyes and pink lips. It felt like everything was tipping on its axis as Caroline passed, flashbacks of Damon in her room and Caroline's screams reminding me of what I came out here to do.

"Go with Elena. You haven't spent much time with her, and I know you're dying to."

"This is more important than that, Sam."

I pursed my lips, shrugging. "This is all hypothetical, anyway. You're wasting your time here with me. I just need to figure some things out and everything'll be all right."

He looked just about to argue, body angling toward me in defiance, when someone laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Stefan—I've been looking everywhere for you," Elena said, a flustered Bonnie behind her.

They had found us a minute or two ago, waiting until the right moment to come over; I was grateful for the interruption.

"Good timing. I was just about to go look for Caroline." I wiggled my eyebrows halfheartedly at Elena. "You two have fun."

Linking my arm with Bonnie's, I made my way through the thick of the crowd and into a thinner section of it, following where I'd last seen the blonde.

"Elena was just about to talk my ear off," Bonnie chuckled. "Thanks for saving me."

"Anytime."

"Also, Elena told me Jeremy would be staying home tonight. His mom doesn't want him going out so soon after the attack."

Caroline's laugh cut through the babble of conversation surrounding us, my head whipping toward the direction of the sound. "That's good. It's safer for him and one less thing to worry about."

"Hey guys!" Caroline chirped, yellow summer dress fluttering in the cool, evening breeze. "I finished handing out all the flyers. Are you two up for some well-earned diet cheating? I spotted pretzels at the other end of the Square."

"Ah," I hesitated, trying my best to ease my features into something somewhat relaxed. "There's something I gotta tell you."

Caroline's smile faded, posture straightening almost immediately. "What? Did something happen?"

"No, no. I just—there's something that I've, you know." I glanced around, hackles raising. "I can't be specific right now, and I'm sorry for that, but just stay away from any overly attractive strangers tonight. Stay with Bonnie, or Matt."

A confused laugh bubbled from her lips, brows pinching in concern. "That's…an odd request."

"A necessary one. Just be careful, all right? I have to go."

Bonnie and Caroline both reached for my wrist before I could make my exit. I bit back a sigh.

"Where are you going? I thought—"

"Change of plans, Bon. Don't worry, I'll just be at the Grill. Be back in an hour or so, I promise."

Both girls looked doubtful, Caroline's stare piercing.

"Sam." She squeezed my arm, crowding into my space intently. "Please, don't do anything stupid."

—

—

I had no idea what I was doing.

Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true. I had some idea of what was happening, some vague plan on how to go about things. But to be honest, I was scared shitless. If anyone was a loose cannon, it was Damon. And if anyone was completely incompetent at dealing with a loose cannon, it was _me_. It'd been weeks since I let myself wallow in my own pity and 'woe is me, I didn't ask for this' mindset because it was _absolutely useless_. Talking to Stefan only brought forth a bunch of emotions I'd managed to force down before. Because who cared about me? Who cared if I wasn't originally from here or if I was afraid, sad, fucking _wrecked_?

I was at a disadvantage because I cared for these people in a way they didn't care for me. I'd spent years of my life, my pre-teen years and adolescence angst-ing over these fictional characters so much I'd grown to love every single one of them. And that love was through a screen, I could look past some of their moral decisions and instead into their soul, so to speak.

But that was then, and this was now. If I didn't have any morals, any guidelines for myself—what did that make me? Yeah, I cared for Damon, for Klaus, for almost every person and/or supernatural creature who came into Mystic Falls. But they didn't know me, didn't care about me, like I did them. They hadn't been exposed to years' worth of background information and fanfiction about me. I knew most of these people's histories like the back of my hand, but to them I was a stranger. If I didn't look out for myself, I'd _die_. There was no room for sympathy or empathy, because they'd most likely—and rightfully so—see it as a weakness on my part and it'd be exploited.

I wanted to save as many people as I could, yet I hadn't made peace with the fact that I wouldn't be capable of saving _everyone_. There was a reason for me being here, a reason for knowing what I did. Maybe once I let go of the past completely I'd be able to fully function in this world without fanfare or fuss. Maybe, maybe not. I still had dreams about my family, still swore I sometimes heard my girlfriend laughing, the sweet timbre of her voice gripping me like a vice. There was no excuse either, of being half-asleep or tired or high. It happened in the middle of the day, in the sanctity of my room, in the quiet of the woods during a run. Possibly, I could be losing my mind. I didn't care, as long as I had something to cling onto.

I knew I was only human, that I only knew what happened on the show. Nothing was guaranteed, not even my safety, which was the last thing someone as self-destructive as me should have to carry. Logically, I knew if I had to die that I wanted it to be _for_ something. I wanted to know I did the most I could, because even though a small doubt lingered at the back of my mind sometimes—that this wasn't real, and all I did was for nothing—I couldn't deny the sheer overwhelming evidence that it _was_.

Sara wasn't here anymore, and the way she disappeared gave me the impression that this body was mine now, that I was cemented into this life. Maybe death would grant me the gift of going back home, maybe it wouldn't. I wasn't sure, so I had to do this right and treat this life like it was my only. If I didn't, then what would become of me? I didn't want to consider any other possibilities.

Feeling queasy suddenly, I skipped any food options in favor of water. Vicki was on duty, Tyler watching her like a hawk from off to the side. I could feel his stare burning a hole through her and onto me when she came to take my order. On a whim I ordered a salad, just to make my staying here less suspicious and partly because I wanted something to fidget with. Maybe the nausea would pass soon.

I sprawled out on the booth, one leg under the table and the other stretched along the seat, my back to the wall and eyes raking over everyone else inside the Grill. Tyler gave me what I assumed was supposed to be a threatening glare when Vicki came over with my water, but I ignored it halfheartedly.

"How're you doin', Vic?" I asked, tearing the paper off my straw.

She shot me a look, eyes calculating, but answered anyway. "Better."

"That's good." Ice clinked against one another as I dipped the straw in. "Your shift going okay?"

Her stance stiffened, the tray she was holding lowering a fraction. "I'm going through withdrawals. I'd say it's anything _but_ peachy."

I winced, nodding in understanding. "I'm sorry to hear. I've been there too, though probably not as bad as what you're feeling. If you—if you ever need any support, I'm happy to help."

Vicki glowered, leaning back defiantly. "I don't need your help."

"It's just an offer." I said, taking a sip. "Ah, I don't know what time your shift ends, but I'd suggest going to the Square for the festival if you have the chance. Matt said something about candy apples and popcorn—your favorite's, right?"

She seemed taken off guard, her expression slipping for a second and a barely-there smile tugging at her lips involuntarily; she smothered it as soon as she noticed it was there. "Yeah," she said, looking away from me. "Yeah, I'll see if I can go. Your salad will be out in a few."

With that, she breezed off, headed toward her other tables. I hoped she'd be able to go to the festival. She'd be safe there.

I popped an ice cube into my mouth, pressing it to my cheek with my tongue. It gave me something to mess with as I sat there, half slumped against the wall with nothing to do. I'd really wished I'd brought my headphones, but then again, I needed to be aware of my surroundings.

My phone buzzed in my pocket then, offering a welcome distraction.

 _'U okay? U didn't look 2 good back there'_

Bonnie's message stared back at me, and my thumbs hovered over the keyboard, hesitant.

 _'Got a lot on my mind. Just need to think. How's the festival?'_

I chewed absently on the half-melted ice, fingers drumming on the table in an uneven rhythm. I leaned my head back and let the faint music and sounds of the Grill lull me into a false state of relaxation.

 _'Always here if u need 2 talk. Take all the time u need. Festival is the usual. Matt's looking for u'_

 _'Thanks, Bon. I'll be out there in a few. What's Matt need?'_

Putting aside the issue of Damon and my own problems, I mulled over other areas I needed to focus on. Sheila'd been trying to get a hold of me and talk, but I'd been putting it off for fear that she'd interfere. I couldn't keep doing it, though. She was growing more and more worried by the day, my excuses no longer convincing. She was a Bennett witch, and I knew I could trust her. Despite Bonnie's inhibitions—and with Sara's memories now mixed in with mine—I knew Sheila was reliable. The past was in the past, and I'd try my best to mend the kinks out in Bonnie and Sheila's relationship. Most of it being misunderstandings and bottled up emotions. Sheila truly loved Bonnie and vise versa, I just had to get them to stop being so avoidant of one another.

 _'U, apparently.'_ I huffed at Bonnie's obvious frustration. ' _He's having a mini freak out about Stefan & Elena. Says he won't be able 2 enjoy tonight without u slapping some sense into him'_

 _'You sure he said that?'_

 _'Doesn't matter. He misses u either way'_

I wiped at the ring of condensation on the table with my pinky, drawing a lopsided smiley face. I couldn't help the grin pulling at my lips.

 _'I'll be out there soon. Just gonna eat something and I'll head out. Tell him to find Care if he needs someone to do the slapping of sense while I'm not there.'_

Bonnie's reply came almost immediately after that.

 _'I'll do just that. Don't be late, comet passes soon'_

"Here's your salad," Vicki said, setting the plate before me. "Enjoy."

I smiled at her in thanks. Dragging the plate closer, I immediately started picking at the strawberries on top, letting the sweet fruit burst between my back teeth. My phone vibrated again a few minutes later, making me roll my eyes mid bite.

 _'Matt's moping ? on my watch ? tell me, does he need me to kick his sorry ass or stuff his face w food?'_

 _'Both,'_ I typed back, snickering. ' _Maybe in that order.'_

 _'are people allergic to fun? because Matt is about to break out in hives and I am so not having that.'_

Swirling the remaining ice cubes in the glass, I watched the small whirlpool it created. The sound it made was almost hypnotic.

 _'Make him get his face painted. Or get him cotton candy. He likes the pink one.'_

I raised the straw to my lips, nibbling on the end of it as I waited for Caroline's reply.

 _'if he keeps acting like this I'll buy him the blue one. PLZ be here soon.'_

 _'I'm feeling totally paranoid rn. is it a blessing or a curse that there aren't many hot ppl in this town?'_

 _'besides us of course.'_

"You are _extremely_ chummy with my brother. And here I thought witches were supposed to hate vampires."

Choking mid-laugh, the drink in my hand tipped over in slow motion, water splashing onto the tabletop. Before I could make a grab for it, the glass was no longer moving; I blinked in response.

"Damon," I faltered, entire body locking up in panic. The lights above seemed dimmer, air hotter. The other people in the restaurant outwardly shrunk. "Hate is a strong word," I managed, breath hitching at his proximity.

Damon sat across from me, no real distinction between him standing and how he got there. I could've sworn he'd been merely a foot away from the table a second ago, and the change in position startled me more than I'd like to admit.

He inclined his head, eyes dark. "Yes, _me_. And I'd say it's the _right_ one."

Something akin to heat unfurled deep in my abdomen when I finally, _finally_ , got a good look at Damon. It was, ridiculous as it sounded, like I was 10 years old again, watching the season premiere of this vampire show I kept seeing commercials about. I was 10 years old, and here was Damon Salvatore—all dark leather and enticing smiles. I blinked again, heart hammering something dangerous behind my ribs.

"Well, you're wrong." I wiped the side of the glass with my thumb just for something to do. I couldn't say I was necessarily surprised at him showing up—I'd been betting on it, honestly—but now that he was actually here, in the flesh, expecting it didn't make any real difference. I was still on edge, still struggling to catch my breath and pull myself away from the wicked gleam in his eyes. "It wouldn't be the first time."

I immediately flinched once the words left my mouth, mentally slapping myself for not having a filter. The hand hidden beneath the table curled into a fist, nails biting into my palm so harshly I felt them sink past the first layer of skin. I'd coached myself on how to keep from letting my fear show so blatantly, but my anxiety wasn't something I could control. Evening out my breathing, I dared a glance at him.

Damon flashed a wide grin, curl of his lips striking; the irises of his eyes were light—a clear, watery teal shade. His pupils dilated, and my throat closed up in response, forgetting for a moment that I couldn't be compelled (or maybe worrying that I somehow _could_ ).

"Ah, I assume my brother has been talking about me. He doesn't know when to stop, it seems." He leaned forward, warm shadows playing across his face, and mock-whispered, "Stefan's not one to brag, but he must _really_ like you if he made an exception this time."

My phone vibrated in my lap, making me have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from making a noise. "Bragging's not the word I'd use."

"All right— _showing off_ , then." Wisps of dark hair fluttered across his forehead as he reclined, sharp underside of his jaw exposed. "What I'm curious about is _why_ you two are so close. He's restlessly pining after Elena whenever he's not with you, and I'd suspect even when he _is_ with you. I read in a magazine once that a relationship can't be healthy unless at least _both_ parties are somewhat interested in one another."

I coughed to disguise a laugh, more amused than I should've been. "Wow, you're not subtle at all. Why don't you just ask me if I have the hots for your brother?"

And there it was—that goddamn smirk of his. My chest felt tight in response and I deliberately frowned. "Because that would suck the fun out of everything. I see why you and Stefan get along so well now."

"Very observant of you." I took a long drink of water, tightening my jaw when I unclenched my fist and the torn skin stung. "Why're you here?"

Damon's eyes flashed, hands clasping together in front of him. "Like I said before, vampires and witches don't mix. And my baby brother isn't very social, at least not when it comes to people other than _Elena_." Vicki passed by, tray full of food in her hands, and I did my best to not look at her. "You're up to something."

For a split second, the whites of his eyes looked red, the skin of his cheekbones darkening. I inhaled deeply, certain my mind was playing tricks on me. "Anything I say, you wouldn't believe anyway. So what's the point of talking to me?"

This time, his pupils dilated so much they practically swallowed the blue. Without thinking, I blurted, "You can't compel me."

He didn't miss a beat, glimpse of his top teeth almost feral. "I'm not trying to. _This_ is normally where I'd threaten those you care about, but it seems they also can't be compelled. I wonder who's responsible for _that_."

"I'm a _witch_ ," I spat, annoyed. "What did you expect?"

Damon's face was suddenly inches from mine, his breath skirting along the tip of my nose and upper lip; I froze. " _Exactly_. You're a weak 16-year-old witch with no self-preservation. Which makes you _stupid_. Don't think you're at the top of the food chain because you are sadly mistaken."

"Fuck the top of the food chain." My breath left me in a rush, glass cup dragging against the wooden table as I pushed it aside, upset. "I may be stupid, yeah, but you're _miserable_." A sick, crawling feeling edged its way low in my stomach, icy chill flooding my veins. I felt like throwing up abruptly, bile tasting like beer somehow. "Open your eyes, Damon. You're chasing after something that doesn't even _exist_."

Damon's fingers curled tight around my wrist, unforgiving in their bruising strength. I hissed when I felt my bones bend, caving in, the joint balancing on that fragile point between sprained and broken. "What do you know about—"

My chest burned hotly, jolt of pure, unhindered power ripping through the pain and making Damon slam back into the booth seat. He clutched at his head desperately, the vein in his forehead throbbing violently—but I wasn't doing anything. I gaped at him, at the smooth sensation of power flowing from me, but it _wasn't me_.

Vicki, who appeared out of nowhere by my side of the table, set my receipt down pointedly. The burning in my chest stopped, and so did the aneurysm it seemed, because Damon let go of his head, seething viciously.

"Are you ready to pay?" Vicki asked, completely ignoring Damon.

The sounds of the Grill flooded in; utensils clinking against plates and soft chatter. I held my wrist to my body protectively, at a loss of what to do. Swallowing thickly, I nodded. The lights behind Vicki were unfocused, no amount of blinking helping sharpen my vision. I managed to stutter, "I-in cash," before gripping the receipt tight in my good hand.

"My shift is over and you're my last table. If you follow me I can do the transaction before I leave." She turned, gave Damon the fakest smile I'd ever seen, and started walking away.

I stumbled out of the booth after her, a quick glance around proving no one had been paying any attention to us. Damon made no move to follow, but the back of my neck pricked with the animosity in his glare.

"What the _hell_ just happened?" Vicki whispered furiously once we were out of view from Damon, easily moving around patrons and other workers.

I wobbled on behind her, hip-checking so many tables and chairs along the way I'd knew I'd have nasty bruises there come morning. "Look, don't ask. Just—" I took a deep breath when we reached the register, unsteady. I pulled out what I guessed was the right amount from my jacket pocket. "Here."

She took the money from my good hand and worked the machine, mouth twisted in a grimace. "Your wrist—does it need ice?"

"Yeah. I-I don't think it's broken, though."

Vicki made a rude noise with her lips. "Don't think? That's never a good sign."

I refused the change she held out, attempting a smile. "Keep it as tip."

Vicki only hesitated for a second—genuine confusion flickering in her eyes—before she pocketed the cash, untying the apron at her waist and balling it up, tossing it somewhere behind the bar. "Come, there's some ice in the back."

She led me around the divider, the hunch of her shoulders and bowed head telling me she wasn't allowed to be taking customers to the back. "Thank you, for—"

"Don't mention it," she interrupted me, quickly scoping out the room before opening a huge fridge against the wall and pulling out an ice pack. She wrapped it up in a paper towel, the noise from the other side of the partition startling her into motion. "Just don't say I never did anything for you."

I huffed, mindful to be quiet. "Course not."

The pack was freezing in my good hand, but I only felt how hot the skin was around my wrist. It was starting to swell, discoloration coming into view under the bright back room lights.

"It's going to swell even worse than that," Vicki commented, ushering me toward a door—different from the one we entered from—that was away from the partition.

"Yeah," I said, numb around the edges. "Is your shift really over?"

"It's close enough." She swung the door open, glancing over her shoulder sharply before saying, "I'll meet you at the Square in 10. You owe me food."

And with that, Vicki closed the door in my face; I let out a shaky breath in response, cold suddenly cutting through my clothing. My wrist ached terribly now, and a different kind of heat returned to my chest. I pressed against it, feeling my mom's—the necklace she gave me—under my fingers. I blinked wetly, realization setting in swiftly.

 _I found the spell required to create a talisman_ , my mom had written, _but altered it to link it more closely to myself, allowing you to channel my power and spirit, while doubling as a protection amulet._

I must've read that note almost every night for the past few months. _A protection amulet._ It wasn't my power, but my mom's. She'd been protecting me.

Curling into myself, I shook my head to clear it. Distantly, I could hear the easy-going babble of people talking and faint smell of food. It was dark out, a fact that made me all but run from the back of the Grill and somewhere more populated and with street lamps.

Above, the comet was passing. A trail of light slowly streaked the sky, white against dark blue. The buttery illumination from numerous lit candles lead the way to the Square, almost everyone's faces upturned to see it.

* * *

 **...**

* * *

 **end author's note:** _a lot has happened. nothing bad, i promise. my girlfriend Isabel, who is also my beta, started her third semester of college and her new job in august. she's very busy, and therefore hadn't been able to beta this chapter. i'd written this up and sent it over to her in late july, and i was extremely dissatisfied with it, which is why i never uploaded it un-beta'd. i wanted her feedback, so i decided to wait. every week that passed hurt more and more, because i wasn't putting anything out and was making you all wait. thank you, by the way, to those who checked up on me-_ _it really meant a lot!_

 _finally i reached my limit this past week and decided it had been long enough since writing this chapter that i'd be able to figure out what was bothering me about it. and so i painstakingly went through every scene, fixing this and that, adding some and moving things around. i like it much more than i had before, but i feel it still could've used work. i don't know. maybe i'll never be fully satisfied with my writing, but that's a me thing. i hope you all liked it! this is fully un-beta'd. and the rest of the chapters probably will be from now on. i'm still going to run ideas by my gf, still going to talk plot out with her, but only i'll see the finished product before publishing it. it'll make me more independent, yeah? hopefully aha._

 _thank you for waiting so long, and for sticking with me. if you ever worry about me bc of lack of an upload or have a question or what have you, check my tumblr! i have an updates tab i always keep, you know, updated lol. and my ask is always open! i love you all, hope you've been doing well._


	16. Chapter 16

**chapter warnings:** _homophobic language._

* * *

 **...**

* * *

Early morning Friday, the sound of heavy footfalls trying to be quiet echoed throughout the house. Initially, it seemed the house was settling as it often did in the early hours, creaking and groaning softly before hushing as the first rays of sunlight skimmed the roof. A yawn bubbled in my chest, and I pulled the covers over my head to muffle the sounds of the outside world. For a moment, I groaned into the underside of my pillow, thinking Bonnie had woken up at another ridiculous hour and was about to start banging around in the kitchen, hungry and despondent. Yet, burrowed in a cocoon of warmth, it occurred to me if that were the case—then why did the tinkling of keys echo in time with the footsteps?

I nearly crashed onto the floor in a heap of limbs from how quickly I burst out from under my nest, dull thud ringing in the confines of the room. The clock read 5:03 am, necklace swinging wildly around my neck, and I winced on reflex when my newly healed wrist collided with the drawer.

Logically, there was no way Damon had been the one to enter—no invitation therefore no access inside. Stefan wouldn't break in, at least I didn't _think_ he would, and the keys weren't explained in that scenario. Bonnie wouldn't have left the house at this ungodly hour without letting me know, the events from last night still bright and fresh in my mind.

Could it be Sheila? Caroline? Matt? All had keys to the house, all were welcome anytime. But none would enter without warning unless it were an emergency, and that simple thought made me yank on a robe and slide into the hallway, socks finding no purchase on the smooth surface.

"What's—?" I choked on the rest of the words, air getting caught somewhere in my throat.

Bonnie's scream abruptly cut through the silence, sharp and biting, enough to make me sway into the living room stand, something shattering distantly. A horrific gurgling ripped from Rudy's throat, the red which rapidly stained his white shirt stomach-churning. Silas—I didn't know how I knew it was him, I just _did_ —smiled, letting Rudy's body hit the floor. Bonnie raced forward, cradling her father in her arms; blood seeped into the cracks of the hardwood panels.

The sound of my name being called bounced around in my head, not processing until warm hands rested on my shoulders, eyes focusing on Rudy's concerned face. I exhaled shakily, knees wobbling.

"You all right, kiddo?"

I was leaning heavily against the back of the sofa, lower back digging in hard enough to hurt.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm good. I just—was excited to see you. It's been months since you've last came home." I huffed a breathless laugh, fixing my mussed hair distractedly. "Sorry, I was still half-asleep…think I broke the lamp."

Rudy's hands slid to the tops of my arms, weight reassuring despite the hammering of my heart against my rib cage. He glanced over to the table. "The lamp's fine. That mug on the other hand, not so much."

Rubbing my eyes for something to do—hoping the images flashing in my mind would fade—I let Rudy pull me into a hug, sighing into the center of his chest. "You've been gone for a while."

His eyes were kind when I looked up at him, but lines still creased the corners, exhaustion prevalent in the set of his mouth. "The trial took much longer than anyone expected. The company took a few blows, but we won in the end."

The memories were there, unprovoked, ready for me to sift through. I blinked twice before delving in, refreshing myself on the events of Rudy's absence. _The traveling pharmaceutical company Rudy worked for was sued, and he had to leave the state and testify. He'd been gone almost six months and would call from time to time. I hadn't done more than speak to him on occasion, and he'd given no warning that he was coming home._

"Well, that's good. Half a year is a long time."

The material of his shirt briefly smelled of blood, strong enough to make me taste it in the back of my throat, and I flinched, recoiling.

Rudy misunderstood it as anger, sad smile gracing the edges of his lips, forehead lines deepening. "I'm afraid my visits won't increase in frequency. I've been promoted to oversee the representation of more companies. Jack gave me the news a few days ago, along with two paid weeks off because of the trial. After that, I have to return."

"Oh," I said, unsure. The sluggish morning light filtered through the living room curtains, sun rays reflecting delicately off the glass cabinet in the corner of the room. Silas' presence had faded from my senses, but I could still hear the ghost of a scream whispering in my ears. "Well, I'd say congratulations, but…this feels bittersweet."

Rudy sighed, a long, terribly winded thing; it felt like he'd been holding it in all these months. "I'm so sorry, honey. I considered turning it down, but in a few years you and Bonnie will be off to college and although I have some money saved for you two, it wouldn't hurt to have more."

"You think money matters more than you being home?" Bonnie's voice, loud and quick, made my head snap to the side, startled. I hadn't been aware she'd been awake, much less listening in. "Six _months_ , dad. You've missed half a year of our lives and now you're going to be home even less than before the trial? Sam and I can both get jobs and we've been saving our money from the checks you've sent home, so don't give us an excuse about _college_."

Like the crack of a whip, there was something heavy in the air. My hand shook when I tried to set it on the sofa, suddenly completely and utterly drained. I compulsively touched the necklace through my robe and shirt, not sure if the warmth there was imagined or real, and not really caring either way as long as it stayed.

"I'm…going to bed." This felt like the wrong thing to do, leaving at the beginning of an argument. Tension mounting, expressions tight—but I just _couldn't_ , and maybe that made me weak. I didn't know. What I _did_ know, was that my wrist ached with phantom pain because it healed much quicker than a human's bones were supposed to, and the comet passing hung over my head like a rain cloud of foreboding and gloom. I was very much not in the mood to witness an argument with only three hours of sleep under my belt and my alarm set to ring in an hour. "It's Friday, you know. Got school in a few hours. Sleep is important and all that jazz."

My blankets were still curved in the shape of me and warm, the darkness under the covers comforting in a way nothing else was. When Bonnie squeezed in beside me moments later and curled into a little ball I only smoothed down her hair and closed my eyes, falling asleep with my hand pressed fast against my necklace. Sleep came easy, then.

—

—

If anything, school was somehow worse than laying in bed for hours on end, contemplating how big I'd fucked up and if surviving the week was even a realistic expectation anymore. At least at home, there was a certain level of peace I was able to delude myself into believing, some meaning my death would have. Outside the room, with Jeremy avoiding me and Caroline a jittery, paranoid mess—there were no such comforts. I needed to fix the situation and fix it _fast._

I'd wrapped my wrist up with an ace bandage before leaving the house, laying a sweater over it to keep Rudy from noticing, but he'd been fast asleep anyway in his room down the hall, his snores making the house feel more like home. I had done something similar after being hurt, shedding my jacket and hiding my wrist, along with the ice pack, that way. By the time I'd reached the square, blue of Caroline's eyes shining bright under the night sky, the off-putting creaking sensation of my joint had calmed down to a dull pulse. It had healed fully by the end of the night.

Stefan had known something was wrong and left early, some muttered excuse to Elena all he gave before driving off. Judging by the way my skin stopped crawling minutes after he was gone told me Damon had followed. Stefan hadn't contacted me since and wasn't at school. I told myself I'd try getting a hold of him after class, but my anxiety was on full blast, nothing my teachers taught solidifying in my mind.

Despite my wrist being back to its unbroken state, I couldn't let Damon know that. _I_ barely even understood why it happened, only knowing it had to do with the necklace and my mom. The letter she had written lay untouched, some part of me unable to really read her description of the necklace and all it entailed, especially seeing as it was the last one in the small pack of six that remained unread. It was the final goodbye, the last thing she wrote before she passed. I wasn't ready.

The bell rung, senses overwhelmed momentarily by the sudden influx of noise around me. Outside, by the field, Caroline moved restlessly between her teammates and the stereo, always keeping herself in someone's line of vision. I considered walking over to her, but she caught sight of me first and gave me a weak smile before breaking eye contact. I swayed, uncertain. Somewhere to my left a player was tackled and the crack of helmets against one another made me keep moving, Bonnie's car keys between my fingers and necklace snug on my sternum.

My entire body was thrumming with uneasy energy the moment the thick of the trees thinned out, long Salvatore boarding house driveway greeting me. I parked haphazardly and fast walked to the door, only getting two knocks in before I was tumbling inside, wind swept hair covering my face.

"It's me," Stefan said unnecessarily. My equilibrium was off, and I steadied myself on his forearms, which wrapped around my shoulders, pressing my back to his chest. "He's outside."

The hairs on the back of my neck rose, silence abruptly suffocating. Stefan slowly removed the hand covering my mouth, moving my hair from my eyes so I could see.

"What," I turned around, adjusting the sweater on my arm, stupid ace bandage loose and itchy, "is going on?"

Stefan was pale, dressed in only sweats and a white muscle shirt. The dim lighting of the hallway did him no favors, cheeks looking sunken and collarbones pronounced. He finally looked at me, eyes having wavered from side to side before. The corners of his mouth pulled down. "Damon found out he couldn't enter."

I nodded, figuring as much but still feeling that awful hitch in my heartbeat, something heavy pooling in my stomach. "Tell me what happened."

"You said he confronts me," Stefan began, jaw ticking. "Makes this his home and proves to me—as if I've _forgotten_ —that he's the stronger one." There's a pause there, the careful consideration of his next words flickering across his face. "He tried that, except he couldn't get in. He was stuck on my balcony by the barrier, and I think he started connecting the pieces then. He knows, Sam. As close as he's ever going to be to the truth and we have nothing to use against him."

My back hit the wall, knees feeling weak. I resisted the urge to slump down and cry, to feel frustrated, and instead scrubbed a hand along my face, taking deep breaths. "I'm sorry," I said, knowing the words weren't nearly enough to convey the level of disappointment I felt at myself. "I fucked up, didn't I? I-I should've just left things the way they were."

I could only see Stefan's legs, and he remained stock still. I took that as a sign to continue, fingers biting into the meat of my thighs. "Now we got a homicidal vampire who knows something's up, who knows you and I are working together—and shit, I destroyed the fucking talisman so once the Founder's Party rolls by later this month he is going to be _pissed_. I don't have any idea how to stop that, I don't have any idea how we're going to do damage control on him once the grimoire option is out of the window, he realizes that it even existed, _and_ we are prime targets. I don't know, and I'm so sorry because I'm an idiot and this—this should've been something someone who's smart and resourceful had to take care of. I'm just me and now everything's going to _hell_."

It was quiet for a moment before Stefan sighed, and I couldn't even deal with his expression, so I pressed my palms to my eyes, squeezing hard enough to see stars.

"You forget we're in this together," Stefan huffed, his voice soft in a way that made me feel like he was trying his hardest to be calm, "and so is Bonnie. You aren't alone in this. You don't have to carry the weight of everything on your shoulders only. We are here to help figure things out because we want the best for this town and its people, because we know that Katherine isn't in the tomb and Damon doesn't dictate our lives. Knowing what you do isn't easy—Bonnie and I don't think so—and we aren't experts in how to fix the future. What we do won't be perfect, but nothing ever really is."

I hung my head low, absorbing the words. The ticking of a clock somewhere felt oddly symbolic; I let out a long, flat whistle. "At least we're fucked in this together."

"Is that really all you took from what I said?"

I half-laughed. "The rest went in here." I tapped my chest, where my heart beat below my skin. "But if I don't use humor to deflect then what am I supposed to do? It's a coping mechanism."

The living room was less ominous than the front hallway, feeling less open and more comfortable. I nestled into the crook of a sofa and held my tea gingerly between both hands. Stefan had a hoodie on now, his hair less of a mess but the shadows of his face just as deep. Even the green of his eyes appeared less vibrant.

"Damon mentioned talking to you. He didn't say much other than it didn't go well." Stefan knelt in front of the fireplace, poker in one hand and lighter in the other. "He didn't look very happy, so I have a feeling it was more so unpleasantness on his part and not yours."

I tapped my nails along the mug, watching the liquid lightly slosh around the rim. "He almost broke my wrist…and I—I stopped him from doing worse."

The tea was still hot, lips and tongue stinging from my attempt to drink. It tasted of jasmine and green tea; I briefly thought of my girlfriend. She always used to drink this type, it was a favorite of hers. Though she liked when the jasmine taste wasn't strong—or was it the green tea? I suddenly couldn't remember, throat closing in panic.

Stefan peered down at me, eyeing my hands. "Your wrists look fine."

I blinked slowly, swallowing thickly with a barely repressed wince. "Yeah…about that. So, it somehow healed on its own? I know, _crazy_. It's been fucking with me ever since. But I think, I think it's the necklace my mom made for me when I was little. I think that…that healed me, you know?"

"You've mentioned the necklace before. Do you not know all of its magical properties?"

"I haven't built up the courage to read the letter she left me. It's the last one in a pile of 'em that she wrote, and…I can't read her goodbye. Not yet. Not when I still have a few letters to read before that." At Stefan's expression, I quickly added, "I will soon, though. I know it's reckless not to know everything the necklace can do when I wear it all the time. I just need—I just need more time."

Sitting beside me, elbows on his knees and brows furrowed so deeply I got lost in the little ridges of skin, Stefan fiddled with his daylight ring. "Why did he hurt you?"

I held the mug tighter, close to my chest. "I…may have said something to piss him off."

I could tell Stefan turned to look at me, but I kept my gaze firmly on the probably ridiculously expensive carpet.

"And that something was…?" he prompted.

"I don't remember it exactly, but I said something that kinda insinuated that he was chasing after something which wasn't real. Vague enough to be anything, but I'm sure he and I were thinking the same thing." Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose, and I cringed. "Totally stupid—fucking dumb, really—I know, I know. I don't have a filter. I'm terrible. I hate myself so much and I'm goddamn sorry. I can't seem to do anything right."

"You seem to forget that you're just a teenager. You're not perfect and you're not meant to be, either. This isn't a good thing, but you shouldn't be so negative to yourself about it. Did you really expect to be an expert on handling Damon overnight?"

"No," I answered, petulantly. "I don't know anything, anymore."

Stefan shifted closer, hands pressed together. "Okay, how's this—we figure out what we're going to do about the talisman. We figure out how to handle Damon, how to keep everything under wraps. Maybe we don't know what we're doing, but at least we're _trying_. I think that counts for something."

"Sure," I said, suddenly breathless. "Yeah, let's figure this shit out."

When I left the boarding house hours later, there was no uneasy feeling humming under my skin. The sun was setting, air cool against my cheeks and neck. Nothing jumped out of the woods at me, no scary sounds were heard. I got into Bonnie's car and drove off.

Halfway down the road, headlights washed over the windshield. I squinted to see past, holding a hand up to block some of the light from my eyes. The last thing I expected to see was Elena, pale in the reflection of my own headlights, mouth set firmly and hands tight on the wheel. She glanced at me, brows knitting together. I couldn't even manage a wave as we drove past each other, my limbs too busy filling with dread.

—

—

"Sam," Sheila greeted, warm light spilling over her shoulders and casting her in shadow. "It's late, baby. What's wrong?"

I loosened the grip on my bag, her voice easing the strain on my nerves. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you."

It was a lame apology, no real excuse other than I didn't want her to stop me from what I'd been up to. But too much had happened, and I needed help—help Sheila'd been offering since the start.

"There's so much I have to tell you, and you're not going to be happy about any of it."

Sheila looked worried, but the corners of her lips turned up, the gentlest of smiles on her face. "We can decide that later. Right now, you need some hot food in you and to not be standing on my porch. Come in, dear."

I shuffled my feet briefly on the doormat, anxiety holding me back for a moment. The sky was a beautiful dark blue—the kind of weather Matt and I liked for evening walks. He'd always show up on my doorstep unannounced, oversized sweater hanging off his frame and worn shoes on his feet, and wordlessly I'd slip on the first thing on the coat rack in the hall, shove on some flats, and join him outside. He always stayed for a late-night snack afterwards, going home with a full belly and bright eyes.

Sheila, patient as ever, only watched my internal dilemma. I was doing this for Matt—for my friends, for Bonnie, for this stupid town which caused as much stress as it did joy ( _debatable_ , but what did I really ever know?)—and I had people's lives depending on it. I couldn't expect myself to be able to handle everything on my own.

Adjusting the strap on my shoulder, I stepped inside.

—

—

' _Elena came to see me,'_ Stefan had written at nearly midnight. ' _She met Damon earlier today.'_

I would've facepalmed if it weren't for how tired I felt. Instead I settled for rolling onto my stomach and muffling my annoyed groan into the mattress.

' _I figured something wasn't right. Saw her on the road, was kinda hoping it was just a casual evening drive. Guess not. What did Damon tell her?'_

' _That we're brothers, mentioned Katherine, and hinted at something between you and me. She didn't take it well, especially since she saw you presumably leaving my home.'_

I grimaced, pulling the covers over my head sleepily. ' _Why is your brother such a dick? Christ, now I gotta worry about this.'_

' _I did my best to convince her otherwise. I think she and I are on better terms now, actually. There had been tension between us before, but we spoke for a few hours and I made us dinner. Is it worrying that Damon's plan backfired? I should be happy, but it doesn't feel right.'_

With Damon, nothing ever felt right. He was an enigma wrapped in a mystery or something convoluted like that. I couldn't gauge him even though I had analyzed his character countless times over the years. Hell, I'd even role played online as him on a few occasions (not that I'd ever mention that to _anyone_ _ever_ ). Stefan was in the right to feel this way. I didn't blame him at all.

' _Damon isn't stupid, and you know that. He's thorough. Cunning. I don't think this is his entire plan. Seems like a pretty weak retaliation, don't you think? Tell me everything Elena told you. Maybe there's something there we can use as a hint for his next possible move.'_

My talk with Sheila still hung heavy on my shoulders, weight metaphorically pinning me down. I'd come home to the quiet disapproval of Rudy for staying at Sheila's place so late without notice, Bonnie's haggard appearance after spending the afternoon probably giving her dad the silent treatment, and some materials Sheila'd given me (most of it to relive stress). Books and spells weren't going to necessarily help the situation anymore, so she settled for me trying out different methods for strengthening my magic and replacing my sense of anxiety of it instead with tranquility and peace. It was some meditation like practice and apparently would allow me to fully access my power under less strain. I'd accepted the herbs and her scribbled notes with gratitude.

During the whole 'spilling my heart out' to her moment, I'd forgotten to mention the necklace. I wasn't even sure if that had been entirely on accident now or not. Avoiding things was an expert ability of mine, after all.

My phone lit up with a message, making me squint reflexively. Tomorrow was the homecoming football game (or whatever it was called), and I'd promised Caroline weeks ago I'd attend. It was in the evening, but I had a feeling I wouldn't be getting much sleep regardless.

—

—

There'd been a knock on my door at the ungodly hour of 7 am. My torso had been all but tied up in my comforter, body horizontal with arms and legs hanging off the bed, hair an unsalvageable mess. Opening the door to a smiling Rudy had done little to lighten my mood. My mouth tasted like it'd been stuffed with pennies, my right hand felt uncomfortably hot—light pinpricks of red scattered over my palm—and no amount of rubbing my eyes made my vision clear.

With an equally grumpy but more presentable Bonnie, the three of us headed to the Square for breakfast (I refused to call it brunch purely out of exhausted spite). Three cups of coffee in I felt somewhat human, and Bonnie seemed less icy toward Rudy, who either didn't seem to notice our mood or was purely ignoring it, sporting the widest grin he could muster the whole time.

I'd felt rather uneasy the whole morning, and it had nothing to do with Rudy or his attempt to make up with us—there was a sluggishness to my thinking and attempts to recall the night before, something which no amount of trying to remember or re-reading the messages from Stefan helped. There was a barrier of sorts, a missing chunk which, now that I was aware of it, seemed to only get bigger as more time passed.

The burning sensation on my hand—now more prominent on my fingertips—dulled enough to be a faint pink smear, but now the side of my neck ached sharply, as if I'd slept wrong or pulled a muscle. Today was _not_ my day.

Rudy took us out to the movies, and after bought a couple of sweets for us. Bonnie warmed up to him soon enough, and hearing their playful banter reminded me of how my mom and I would talk. All of Rudy's actions screamed _sorry_ , but there was also pride there—joy. He slung an arm over my shoulders and guided Bonnie with a hand to her back and…it was comfortable, light, sweet. I'd forgotten what a parental figure felt like—not that it was always smiles and laughs—but this, the relaxing aspect of it, something carefree in a parents' demeanor which overflowed onto their kids, it was one of my favorite things. If Rudy tried to scold me for something I think a small part of me would secretly appreciate it. I only hoped it would be something like how my mom parented.

Stefan and I kept up a steady stream of texts throughout the day, his concerns only growing and Damon still nowhere to be seen. Sheila checked up on me along with a reminder of what to do, which spells to practice and ways to relax and de-stress. I took it for the apology that it was, though more so a compromise than anything, on her acceptance of my involvement with vampires. She'd been anything but happy about that. I could still hear how sharp her voice had gotten last night in my ears.

Back home, full beyond belief and unable to bear the pain on the side of my neck any longer, I made a tea Sheila'd written down and tried my best to follow her instructions on how to 'spirit' meditate or something. It was supposed to be cleansing for the soul, but I only really felt the stabbing on my neck and the dull ache building in my lower back from sitting so straight.

Unable to keep taking it quietly much longer, I asked Bonnie if she could massage the muscle there, maybe a knot'd formed from my head hanging off the bed. She used a heat pad and did her best, though I still winced and dug my nails into my palms whenever she'd touch a certain spot.

I must've dosed off at some point because next thing I knew my phone was ringing and I was alone. I felt better, no more pain or weird burning sensations trailing across my back. I reached for my phone and swiped the icon on the screen without looking at the number.

"Hello?"

I frowned, the silence stretching over the other end of the call uncomfortably long. I pulled the phone away from my ear, screen black. Pressing the power button showed the time and no actual call; my stomach sank abruptly.

Moving to stand, my vision darkened, head rush making me stumble into my dresser. The bitter and tangy taste of copper returned, filling my mouth so suddenly it felt like I'd swallowed metal. Fingertips stinging, I half-crouched in front of the door, unable to breathe past the potent smell and taste. I choked brokenly, wiping a hand at my mouth. It came back wet and gleaming, bright red color startling against my light brown skin. I nearly kicked down the door then and raced to the bathroom with stuttered breaths and no regard for anyone else in the house.

All I managed to see was red coating my mouth and chin in the reflection of the mirror before I heaved into the toilet, gagging so terribly I was briefly reminded of when I'd gotten water in my lungs and my body struggled to get it out. My head was pounding—or maybe that was the door, I couldn't tell and didn't care—stomach refusing to expel anything.

Gasping for breath, the slamming of the door echoed loudly in the small space, making me smack my head against the side of the sink. Hair was pulled back from my face, a warm hand pressing between my shoulder blades, soothing and steady. I grunted something in response before the taste disappeared, mouth dry.

"…thing she ate," Bonnie murmured behind me, knee pressing into the back of my thigh.

I gripped the edge of the toilet, noticing the absence of blood. Even my face was clean of it, only saliva coating my chin. I hadn't even been throwing up.

"It doesn't look like anything actually came up. I'll put some tea on the stove and see if we have any lemons. Are you okay watching over her?" Rudy shuffled near the door, and his palm settled on my forehead.

Bonnie's hand never stopped rubbing circles on my shoulders. "I'm fine, dad."

There were a few beats of silence after Rudy's departure, then the only warning I got was a stiffness in my neck before pain exploded there, dragging toward the front of my throat. My fingers hurt, specifically my nails, and a weight knocked the air from my lungs. I toppled backwards onto Bonnie, struggling to breathe, legs kicking on their own volition. The corners of my vision blackened and all I saw was blue and red before everything whited out and Bonnie managed to hold me down.

"Sam! Hey, _hey_. You're all right. I got you—calm down, I got you."

Half-sobbing in relief, I laid lax against Bonnie, breathing through my nose to lessen the pain. She ran her fingers though my hair, sweat making it mat to my face in tangled clumps. She started talking—random things, her gentle tone a contrast to the iron grip she had on my upper arm. I pressed my cheek to the floor, tile cool against my cheek. I blinked away black spots from my vision.

My attempt at speaking ended in a horrible croak escaping my throat, so Bonnie tipped a glass of water which had been perched on the sink against my lips, liquid only somewhat spilling down my chin and most of it ending up in my mouth. My vision was blurry, colors smearing into one, the bathroom light making my head swim; I swallowed gratefully and closed my eyes.

"I think I'm dying," I coughed, humor lost in the thrum of heat against my throat. My hands were clean of blood and I stared at them, nails still aching but the pain starting to fade. "Must've pissed someone off."

" _Or_ you ate something bad and messed your neck up sleeping like an idiot."

I grimaced. "Or that."

Scrubbing a hand across my face, Rudy appeared in the doorway with half a lemon and a napkin, and I tried to move but a weird smell caught my attention. While Bonnie reached for the lemon, I glanced around the room, nose wrinkled. My shirt suddenly stuck to my chest, heavier than I remembered it being.

A streak of blood coated it, what looked like fingers toward the top more frightening than if there'd been a tear in the fabric leading to a wound. It felt like I'd been the one to put it there.

"Sam?"

A lemon was being waved in front of my face, the tangy smell cutting through the blood which lingered in the air. "Huh?"

"Smell this. It'll help with the nausea," Bonnie said, placing it along with the napkin in my hand and setting the glass of water on the floor. "Thanks, dad."

When I looked back down the blood was gone.

—

—

I didn't want to be here.

The school was crowded, music blaring from speakers on the football field, hustle and bustle from those finishing up decorating not distracting enough from the fact that I was alone, tired, and a strange, angry red line had appeared out of nowhere in a ring around my neck. Rudy had put up a fight to let me leave the house, worried about my health and wanting me to rest. I'd managed to convince him otherwise with help from Bonnie, part of me not sure why I was so adamant in showing up to the game anyway. Was it really so bad if I stayed home? Maybe I'd be doing everyone a favor.

Bonnie left in search of Caroline to finish up something cheer related, Stefan's last message to me was over an hour ago, and Matt couldn't stay to talk, Coach Tanner having spotted him across the field and practically hollered for him to group with the rest of the team. I sat on the hood of Bonnie's car, legs crossed at the ankle.

The sky was clear, shades of orange and pink starting to spill forth. The heat had died down a little this week, leaves on trees losing their brilliant green in favor for more tame colors. Autumn was a favorite season of mine, Halloween and Thanksgiving and the smell of pumpkin spice or apple cinnamon in the air the closest thing to Heaven I knew. I wondered what Autumn in Virginia was like, but shoved that thought aside when I realized I'd be spending it without my family, without my girlfriend or friends. The part of my brain which reminded me they didn't exist here only made it worse.

"Hey, Sam." Elena's voice startled me, heel of my boot banging against the hood. "You okay?"

I adjusted the sunglasses on my nose, pushing them up with the side of my finger. Elena was wearing her cheer outfit, pom poms held in one hand. For a second I just stared, confused. "Uh…yeah. I'm fine."

"Do you—can we talk?" She seemed embarrassed, tip of her shoe digging into the pavement.

 _She never quit cheerleading_ , I realized. _Damon was the one who convinced her to in the first place._

"Of course. Wanna sit down?" I scooted to the side without waiting for a reply, already taking off my jacket and setting it down beside me, a barrier between her bare skin and the hard, cold metal of the hood.

Elena made a soft sound, one of surprise, but climbed up anyway and sat. She set her pom poms on her thighs. "Thanks."

She didn't continue, so I took it as a sign to let her gather her thoughts, leaning back against the windshield; the glass was cool through my shirt. My fingers twitched to rub at the irritated ring on my throat, skin prickling. For the hundredth time that day, I wondered if I should let Sheila know about what was going on.

"So…I'm sure Stefan already mentioned to you what happened yesterday," she murmured, interrupting my thoughts. "And I wanted to apologize for how I acted. I don't know what got into me. And that's no excuse—I'm not trying to make it seem like this was beyond my control. I chose to act how I did and I'm sorry."

Pursing my lips, I half smiled. "There's nothing to apologize for. You were acting on emotion. Stefan's brother was kinda laying it on thick, you know? Whatever he told you, trying to make you second guess your relationship with Stefan. Like, that wasn't cool. I don't blame you for believing him. I do hang out with Stefan sometimes, yeah, and I can see why someone would think there's something there. He's gorgeous," I nudged her arm with my elbow, wiggling my eyebrows, "he's always so intense, and like, it's a small town. Close minded people and all that. Can't have friends of the opposite sex or else people think you're dating."

Elena turned to me, clasping her hands together, brows furrowed. "I should've thought it through more. I promised you a long time ago I'd try my best to keep stereotypes and rules and all that other crap out of our friendship because you deserved to have friends who weren't like everyone else. And I did exactly what I said I wouldn't. I assumed the worst and barged in on Stefan like a jealous girlfriend and—and it was a terrible thing to do. To both him and you."

Without taking my eyes off the sky, I blindly curled a hand around both of hers, squeezing once. "Other people would've started a rumor about me lying about liking girls for attention or something like that. Other people would've tried to preach God at me for the hope I could be saved or, or, or—other people would've been complete assholes about it. Maybe you didn't go about it the right way, maybe you should've waited until morning or have called Stefan before showing up at his place but regardless, you just wanted an explanation. You were confused, about Stefan's brother and why I was so close with Stefan and probably a bunch of other things regarding whatever Damon said to you." Elena's eyes were bright, her shoulder's hunched in a way which communicated her regret. I shook her hands a little to make sure I had her attention. "Hey, it's all right. Contrary to popular belief I'm not actually a lesbian—not that it'd make a difference to people, but _whatever_ —and you respected me enough to never actually ask 'cause it didn't matter to you. But that made you question my friendship with Stefan—and the fact that we even _had_ a friendship in the first place, so soon after meeting—and that's okay. I'm not offended. Emotions are a hell of a thing, and I get that. I totally get that."

All at once, Elena seemed to shrink with her exhale, slumping into my side heavily. "I wish I didn't have to feel things sometimes. And wow—that's depressing to say. Things just get to be too much, and I wonder if feeling nothing is better than the alternative." She shifted, getting comfortable, and I wrapped an arm around her waist to let her nestle into the crook of my shoulder. "This is also not me asking for pity. I know what I did was wrong, and I appreciate you forgiving me. This is me, freaking out, wondering when it'll get better. I don't want to lose myself and turn into someone I barely recognize."

I pressed my cheek to the top of her head, contemplative. "You—you went through something terrible. You're still trying to find your footing, still trying to figure out your place in the world after having it shaken up so violently. That's totally normal. Wanting to feel nothing? Wondering if you'll ever be able to breathe easy again? All that sad stuff is prime teenage crisis material. Go through the motions, know that you have a support system and people who love you. We'll be here to catch you if you fall or cheer you on if you decide to get up without help. You're a fighter, Elena. It's in your blood. I know you can do this."

She let out another long exhale, quiet and weary, but she patted my knee, shoulders squaring as she pulled away. "You're right," she agreed. "I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I'm so afraid and I don't even know of _what_. This is the clean slate I wanted, and I'm going to make the best of it. Thank you."

"Anytime, 'Lena."

Raising her head, back straight and muscles taut, Elena smiled to the sky. I could see months of tension draining from her body and confidence replacing it. She let out a tinkling laugh, nodding to nothing in particular and clutching her pom poms to her chest. There were still lines around her eyes and a stiffness to her movements, but it was a start. She was trying, and that was all that mattered.

"Elena?" Stefan asked, standing in front of Bonnie's car with his arms behind his back. He seemed amused, glancing between the two of us. "I'm sorry I'm late."

I blinked; he wasn't wearing a football jersey and it took me a second to remember that he never tried out in the first place. He was dressed normally, in light and dark tones, looking like someone straight out of a romance novel.

Another laugh bubbled from Elena's chest, looking lighter than air. I couldn't help but join her, swept up in the way her grin transformed her entire demeanor. She swung her legs off the hood, hopping off and entrancing Stefan with her joyful expression. His face softened entirely, accepting her outstretched arms and twirling her in a quick, but graceful circle.

"I missed you," Elena half-whispered into the material of Stefan's jacket, the two now hugging. "Today's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Not as beautiful as you."

I groaned, rolling my eyes into oblivion. Making a shooing motion with my hand, I said, "Okay, okay, I get it. You two are grossly adorable. So much in fact that I can feel my reputation being tarnished more and more every second you two look into each other's eyes. Go be cheesy somewhere else."

Stefan winked at me, Elena now tucked into his side. I stuck my tongue out at him playfully and huffed when they walked away. I slipped my jacket back on and rubbed at my neck, massaging out the sting there. The blue of the sky was fading fast, darker shades sweeping up in an arc.

Bonnie's keys were in my pocket, and I contemplated going inside the car, maybe taking a nap or listening to music. A headache budded between my eyes and more people were arriving, the noise only strengthening the dull pain.

I passed out in the backseat with an alarm set to sound in half an hour and flashes of color playing out behind my closed lids. I woke up feeling even more tired than before.

—

—

"Care!" I shouted to be heard over the roar of students, squeezing through the crowd. "Hey, Caroline!"

The blonde glanced over her shoulder, catching my eye. I waved, nearly tripping over a beach chair and cooler on my way over. The stadium lights weren't on yet despite it being almost completely dark out, the moon reflecting off Caroline's hair and making it look white. She'd been easy to spot among everyone else.

"You excited?" I leaned in close, hoping I wasn't yelling Caroline's ear off on accident. "Everything looks great, by the way! Decorations are perfect, the setup is awesome, and I can't wait to see the routine you've been working on."

I had the errant thought of _if we even get to make it that far_. Stefan knew about Damon killing Coach Tanner tonight, but everything had been changing so much I wasn't sure it'd still be happening, or if it was preventable. Ever since I woke up that morning, I'd been feeling like shit warmed over. My intuition was all kinds of messed up and I kept seeing things that weren't there if I closed my eyes for too long. Part of me wondered if this had something to do with the fact that I didn't belong here originally. Maybe those things I kept seeing were of _home_. Maybe. I didn't want to get my hopes up.

"Thank you." Someone to Caroline's left knocked into her while running by, something which looked suspiciously like a beer bottle clutched in one hand. She wiped at her arm, annoyed. "I don't know who brought alcohol but if the game gets cancelled because of it I am going to find out who they are and _kill_ them."

More people rushed by, some carrying coolers between them and others holding bags to their chests as if they were carrying something as precious as a baby. I pursed my lips to keep from laughing when Caroline grimaced.

"Focus on the game and your routine. I'm sure they aren't stupid enough to get caught," I paused. "I think Coach Tanner is drinking too, so…"

Caroline managed to give the impression of face-palming without even moving her arms. "I'm not above killing a teacher if he's the reason we lose today."

I winced, masking it with a startled laugh. "At this rate you're going to kill the whole school."

The stadium lights flickered on then, blinding everyone for a few seconds. I swear I saw Damon even though my eyes were closed, the blue of his eyes so bright I kept seeing it even after the lights faded.

"…about time. The girls need to warm up and the band is about to play," Caroline said, adjusting the scarf around her neck. I touched my own on reflex, the skin smooth under my touch. "You're going to be alone, right? Elena told me Jeremy was staying home."

I pretended to scratch my collarbone, hoping she didn't notice me staring. "Uh…I guess. He didn't tell me anything."

Her forehead wrinkled. "He must still be freaked after what happened. Elena said he barely even leaves his room."

"I wish I could talk to him."

"Why can't you?"

I shrugged. "He's been avoiding me lately. I don't blame him, really. I just don't know how much longer I can go without seeing him."

"Did…something happen between the two of you?" She looked uncomfortable asking.

"We kinda got into an argument."

"About what happened in the woods?"

People were moving closer to the field, in a pack almost, toward the unlit bonfire, the band getting in formation in front of it. Farther down the strip, by the stage, the football team filed out from their position by the field and lined up. Pom poms were tossed in the air, and almost immediately cheerleaders closed in from their scattered places around the parking lot. "No, it wasn't about that."

Caroline followed my gaze, missing the pom poms but still, instinctively, knowing it was time to group with her squad. She turned her face away and locked eyes with me. "What about?"

"You're going to be late," I stated, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets. "They're about to light the bonfire."

"What did you argue about, Sam?"

"About me." I started walking, the band leader calling out something to his group. "We argued about me."

Caroline matched her stride to mine, not missing a beat. " _Okay_ , you're going to have to give me more than that."

The rumble of the band playing started up, the sound swept up by the crowd of students howling. The bonfire went up in flames, inching higher and higher to reach the dummy wearing the opposing team's jersey. Despite how far we were from it, imaginary warmth still touched my face. "He doesn't—he thinks I'm different. That I changed." I ran my fingers through my hair, unsure of how to get the words out. "I don't…he's not wrong. I-I'm not the same person I used to be. And I don't want to pretend, either. I'm tired of pretending. It feels like that's all I do, sometimes."

"Sam," Caroline started, grabbing hold of my arm. "I'm going to be brutally honest here, okay? Because I know you appreciate that." I frowned, her words reminding me of what Jeremy had said to me in his hospital room. "You are…you're different. That much is obvious. For months it's felt like you've been fighting with yourself. You'd trip over your words or contradict yourself, sometimes you would reach out but stop halfway or—or you'd move like you didn't know what you were doing. It was like your brain was rewired and you were trying to function normally without telling anyone. I don't know. But what gave it away the most was how you'd look at us. Like you didn't recognize us at times, with an occasional moment where you'd stare for too long with this…look of wonder on your face. The way someone would look at someone famous or something."

A girl in cheer uniform spotted us and threw her pom poms up to get Caroline's attention. She blatantly ignored it, turning to fully face me. The light from the fire cast soft shadows on her face, and my heartbeat stuttered in my chest.

"But you still felt like _you._ I thought you were just going through a personality change. That's totally normal, and nothing necessarily negative was happening so I didn't say anything. You even stopped drinking and getting high as much, so I shrugged it off as withdrawals. But then school started, and Jeremy was attacked, and you didn't feel like you. Not completely, anyway. You're more…gosh, I can't even really explain it. I know its still you, someone can only change so much within such a short period of time, but it's—it's the vibe you give off. It's the way you phrase certain things." A few cheerleaders started waving their arms and calling out, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the crowd moving closer to the stage. "And I know that—that you're going through a hell of a lot right now. With the," she pitched her voice lower, glancing around us quickly, "the vision you had and everything. Like that's a weight I can't imagine carrying. But I don't even know what the _hell_ is going on. You promised me you'd tell me what was happening, but it's been months and then out of the blue Jeremy gets attacked and you tell me to avoid any suspiciously attractive strangers and I-I can't sleep. I keep thinking I'm being watched and yesterday this stupid bird was following me and like I know it was just a _bird_ but I swear it wanted to claw my face off."

Caroline inhaled sharply, both hands tight around the tops of my shoulders and her body angled so we could be eye to eye. There was faint chanting, the fire still raging but not as bright anymore. "I know I'm all over the place, I'm not the best at doing this whole talking thing but I just—there's something going on. I can tell, I've noticed for months now. The fact that Jeremy thinks the same confirms it for me. You never—you wouldn't—you were always so…truthful with me. Not that you lie to me now, but you aren't telling me everything. You're keeping things to yourself and that's not like you."

My mouth opened, but I couldn't form words. Coach Tanner took the stage, and everyone erupted in screams and hollers. Pom poms shone under the stadium lights as they were raised in the air, a lot of students having their own singular pom-pom to shake around. The feeling of being an impostor suddenly raged through me, skin and muscle and bone foreign, alien. They wanted Sara— _their_ Sam—not me. And I wished I could give her to them.

"I'm not mad at you, okay? I just think you and I need to have a long talk. Soon. About everything. And I'm sorry I dropped this all on you. You know me, when I start talking it's hard to get me to stop. I didn't even let you get a word in," she sighed, forehead pressing gently against mine. "And now I'm going to be even more terrible and leave. Bad timing, huh?"

"The worst." I did my best to smile at Caroline when she pulled away, wanting to be reassuring. "I'll see you after the game? And we'll talk?"

"I'm all yours once we win this game. Can you try and stick with people you know? I'll do my best to spot you in the bleachers when we're out in the field." She nodded, waved once, and took off in a sprint toward the stage, where Coach Tanner already had the crowd even more fired up. I stared after her.

Bonnie's keys were in my hand and my hood was up before Caroline even reached the stage, the nausea flowing through me making me unsteady. I knew there were some pills in the glove compartment, the sudden crushing weight of having to sit by myself on the bleachers while feeling like complete hell not appealing.

I burrowed into my jacket, willing by some miracle that the last few minutes would shut the _fuck_ up and stop replaying for long enough to let me think. A lot of people scattered the parking lot, in varying degrees of drunk and rowdy. The smell of spilled beer on cold concrete permeated the air. Stomach rolling, I put my hand over my mouth to keep from being sick.

Despite the weak light from the lamps above, the soft blue color of Bonnie's car shimmered enough to catch my eye. Maneuvering through tightly packed cars, finger ready on the unlock button, the sharp crack of glass shattering echoed bitingly in my ears. I glanced to the side, millions of tiny shards glittering on the ground, puddled by brown liquid. Looking up, the dude who'd dropped the bottle was watching me, little beady eyes narrowing when locking with mine.

"Fuckin' fag," he spat, venom surprisingly lacking in his voice in favor of a ridiculous slur. His foot slid in the beer when he tried to take a step toward me, glass clinking as it dragged against wet pavement. "You're goin' to hell for what you did."

I frowned, then proceeded to make a face at him. It was 7 pm on a Saturday night after a whole day filled with bullshit. I wasn't in the mood. He grunted something after me, his annoyance at my lack of reply making me snort in amusement.

My smile disappeared though, when the car fully came into view. Resting there, on the windshield, was a plain piece of white paper. For a moment I thought it was an advertisement, maybe something school related, but other cars didn't have it. I moved the wiper out of the way and lifted the sheet, blank and crisp, glancing over it quickly before turning it over.

Sophie Young stared back.

A cold chill seized me, limbs heavy. Something in my chest struggled to come up, vision tunneling. Sophie looked horrifying; the skin under her eyes were sunken in, shadows deep and hallow, her cheeks bony and lips bruised. Stringy hair framed her face, all sharp angles and discolored flesh. Once I could pull my gaze away from the chair she was strapped to and the scratches along her arms, the unhealthy weight loss and jutting wrist bones, I locked eyes with hers and couldn't look away.

Sucking in a breath, I staggered back into another car, boots scraping atop loose pebbles and uneven asphalt. The corner dated the photo a week ago. I pressed my hand harder against my mouth, willing away the sob threatening to choke its way out. Blinking rapidly, the words above the photo, in all caps but small font, distracted me from what felt like my entire heart shattering in my chest. Gasping, curling in on myself and bracing my forearms on my thighs, I read what it said.

 _LOOK AT WHAT SAMANTHA BENNETT DID TO SOPHIE YOUNG. DON'T BE FRIENDS WITH FAGS BECAUSE THEY'LL RUIN YOUR LIFE._

The sheer ridiculousness of the words—making me think of high school bullying clichés and all they entailed—tore me away from the pain twisting low in my stomach, like shards of glass trying to rip me open from the inside. The paper lowered, words echoing in my head. I could still see Sophie, her face burned into the backs of my eyelids. I swallowed down bile, paper crumpled between my clammy fingers.

Instinctively, I knew who it was. There was really no doubt in my mind to begin with, but I _couldn't_. I couldn't fully comprehend the fact that Tyler would do something like this to me—would go as far as getting this photo of Sophie wherever she's being held and shoving it in my face like a threat. No one had even heard about her in months.

It took me a second to register the fact that someone was coughing—a wet, rattling sound—and I looked up, the fragile bubble I'd subconsciously created falling apart the moment my eyes landed on the drunk dude from earlier, hand braced against what I assumed was his truck and keys on the floor by his feet. There was a long stretch of silence where I watched him slowly bend over and struggle to pick his keys up, his coordination off and fingers always a few centimeters too far. His knees shook with the effort, knuckles white and rise and fall of his chest evident.

I was marching over before I could even fully process the decision to move, snapping back into awareness when the dude finally stood, keys in hand, before dropping them again the second our eyes met.

"Who put the paper on my windshield?" I asked, crowding him against his car door, sloped pavement giving me an inch or two more in height.

The guy managed to scowl at me—as awkward as the movement was—flattening himself to his car in an attempt to get further away from me. "What're you talking 'bout?"

"Don't play dumb with me. Who put this paper on my windshield?" I held it up, blank side facing him, grip so tight the sheet was torn in some places.

"Get away from me," he hissed, baring his teeth. "Don't _touch_ me."

He tried to move to the side, muttering under his breath. I gripped the front of his shirt and shoved him against his door, startling myself in the process. The metal groaned in protest, car swaying from side to side.

"Who. Fucking. Put. This. On. My. _Windshield_?"

His hand came up to push mine away, but I shoved him back again, harder this time. "Answer the question or I'll break your rearview mirror."

The dude squinted, peering down at me. He seemed extremely uncomfortable, palm sweaty where it pressed against my skin. The light from the parking lot made him look sickly. "I didn' see anything."

"I don't believe you." My grip tightened, fingers sure to leave wrinkles in his shirt.

"Didn't see anyone put _shit_ on your car. The flyers were on'a table. Near the food."

I pulled him closer to me, teeth gritted. " _Where_?"

He squirmed, out of breath. I could see the beer swirling in his eyes. "The entrance, near the bleachers."

"Do you know when?"

"Fuck—" he huffed, slumping against his door, unsteady from exerting so much energy, "—I don't _know_. They've been there for, for like, an hour? People were passin' them around."

 _An hour ago? That must've been before I'd taken a nap. No one had paid me any attention._ "Are you _sure_ about that?"

"What does it fuckin' matter? The whole school's probably seen it by now." His head thudded back against his window, but I could see the smirk pulling at his lips. "You're _disgusting_ , and now even your friends won't wanna talk to you. Now get the fuck away from me."

I held him there for a few seconds, staring at nothing in particular; my head was swimming. Pulling back, paper crumbled in pieces on the floor, I stormed off, leaving the dude snickering behind me.

The parking lot was mostly empty, a clear path back to the school where the sound of cheering made my stomach roll uneasily. My eyes were dry, legs somehow steady and heavy with purpose. The stage came into view and I could feel myself practically vibrating with anger, something about the acuity of it reminding me of Sara's temper—the sheer magnitude something I'd never felt before in my life.

A smaller version of the crowd still somewhat circled the stage, minus the football team and cheer squad. Before I could even think about where to go next, someone spotted me. We made eye contact for the briefest of moments, her face pinching into a nasty expression before she turned her head. A chain reaction followed, one by one people looking over their shoulders or facing me head on as I got closer, so close that a group of girls moved out of their way to let me pass.

My skin was buzzing, fingers itchy. I ignored them as best as I could and noticed, with some interest, that wherever I went, people parted for me. Like Moses and the red sea, but except with insults whispered and genuine worry in their eyes. Not for me, but _because_ of me. I'd imagine if I could have steam coming out of my ears I'd be whistling like a boiling teapot. The mental image did nothing to decrease my temper.

Steering clear of the stage, I made my way around the building which lead to the back of the field, away from the main entrance where people were setting up for the football team's arrival. A glimpse of red near the back-locker rooms caught my eye, the shine of pom poms telling me I was headed in the right direction.

Almost everyone I passed—whether it be groups or a lone person—held a white sheet of paper in their hands. It was absurd, how I hadn't possibly noticed it before, while making my way to Caroline or during my conversation with her. Maybe I hadn't been paying attention, absorbed in my own thoughts, but it seemed ridiculous that I just _didn't_ notice the way people were staring, something completely hostile yet afraid in their eyes. It felt like nicks in my skin, little slashes every time someone saw me. It only made my blood boil more, something dangerous trickling into my veins. I didn't feel like myself.

The field was still empty and the crowd was still cheering at nothing, people still staring and whispering—those who were shameless shouting a thing or two in my direction—and I _still_ hadn't found Tyler. I was angry, so angry, with no one to be rational and hold me back, the drive to _hurt_ and _scream_ and _do something stupid_ like liquid fire in my limbs. I tasted bile again but swallowed it down, teeth coming down on the sides of my cheeks.

Rounding the corner of an open fence—the back of the field where the football team would make their entrance along with the cheerleaders—I only spotted the latter, who were getting ready, a huge paper sign held between some of them crookedly. Spinning on my heel, I left quickly, not wanting to see any familiar faces.

I walked fast, heartbeat accelerating in an anxiety induced excitement. I could barely hear my own thoughts with the crowd _still_ _cheering_ in the stands despite no one being out on the field. The locker rooms came into view, bright lights casting sharp shadows and harsh edges. A few guys in jerseys stood outside, laughing. My vision immediately tunneled on Tyler, in the heart of the small group, clapping his teammate on the shoulder and motioning with his chin to something I couldn't see.

" _Tyler_." My voice sounded wrong, strained in ways I'd never heard before, rough as if I'd just finished running a 5K. Everyone's heads swiveled toward me; I could feel heat crawling up my neck. "You're a fucking coward."

Those weren't the words I'd meant to say, my mind in several places at once. The bottled anger Sara'd kept carefully sealed tight threatened to pop right open. It was my anger now, something she left for me, something which made me want to make Tyler bleed right there and then.

Tyler had the audacity to look annoyed. "Not your best insult, Bennett. What do you want?"

I barked a laugh, the echo of it grating even on my ears. "You know damn well what you did. Don't act stupid." My breathing was already labored, stomach doing flips in gross anticipation. "This is because of Vicki, huh? Because of what happened at the park? Jesus, you're predictable, but bringing So—bringing _her_ into this—that's sick. That's fucked up. This goes beyond hazing and-and- _and_ your dumb little bullying tactics or whatever. She's god knows where and you find her, take a picture, and use it for _this_?"

I didn't remember moving, but Tyler and I were practically chest to chest, his tall frame blocking out the stadium lights behind him. If Sara were still here, I'd bet money she'd be screaming obscenities in my head. If I tried hard enough, I could almost pretend she was, voice encouraging and full of promise. She'd want me to hurt him, and the line between us was so blurred I couldn't tell entirely if it was only _her_ that wanted that.

"I don't have anything to do with that flyer going around." Tyler stepped back, sneering. A few seconds passed before it registered that he was taking the defensive position. "And I'd appreciate it if you were out of my personal space."

" _Personal_ —?! Are you _kidding_ me?"

Tyler's friends backed up too, converging into a tight group on Tyler's side. The stadium lights sprung back into view, hand coming up to shield my eyes.

"If you haven't noticed, there's a game tonight. And I need to get in my gear." He circled around me, paying me no mind.

Before he could get far, I turned, flashes of Sophie's face in my field of vision. Something in my chest burned _,_ absolutely fucking _bubbled_ beneath my skin when I watched him walk away from me, knowing damn well he'd been the one responsible for this.

" _No_ ," I growled out, storming after him. The second I touched his shoulder, wanting him to face me, he recoiled from my touch, expression dark. "You did this! You _did_ this _—_ "

"Get your hands off me." I swayed back, unbalanced by Tyler flinging my arm away from him. "I didn't do _anything._ You did this to yourself. You should've left Sophie Young alone, you sick _freak._ "

The static babble of screaming in my head reached a peak, and I saw nothing but red as I gripped Tyler by the collar of his shirt, dragging him close. " _Admit it_ ," I hissed, my momentum greater than I'd expected, both of us losing our balance and falling to the dirt floor, cement pavement only a few inches from us. I choked on a breath, struggling to continue. "Just fucking admit _it._ You did this because of Vicki, because of what I did. You- _you_ threatened me that day at the park—I didn't forget—and _shit_ there was so much you could've done. You wanna bring back the bullying? The dirty fights behind the parking lot where there aren't any cameras? The name-calling and ugly looks? What about the rumors? Vandalizing my stuff? Huh? You could've done any of that—but why, Tyler, why go through the fucking trouble of finding _her_ and getting a picture of what she looks like now? She had _nothing_ to do with _this_."

"You're crazy!" Tyler shoved at me, desperate to get me off him. I caught hold of his wrists, pinning them against his chest. "You've fucking lost it! Get the hell off, I didn't do _shit_."

He tried to buck me off, pushing and pulling and biting curse words into the air between us. I held on fast, stubborn for him to admit the truth, my entire body vibrating with the kind of energy I'd imagine you'd feel before a storm. I wasn't going to leave until he was honest, past the brink of rational and collected. Part of me was out for blood, but the part of me that felt like I'd had the world taken out from under me was greater, that gaping hole in my chest making it difficult to keep from sobbing uselessly.

"No one else hates me like you do!" I yelled, ignoring the way the words stabbed through me, sharp and bitter. "No one else would do this! Only _you_."

The lights, which had been glaring in both of our faces, slowly faded out, until we were both shrouded in shadow. At first, I thought it was Tyler's buddies, having shifted closer during our scuffle, but the multiple feet in my peripheral vision proved otherwise. A small crowd gathered around us, shielding Tyler and me from the light but trapping us within their circle.

"This whole fucking school hates you," Tyler spat, wedging an elbow between our bodies. "You think only I'd do something like this? You're _wrong._ "

He twisted his hips, attempting to find purchase on the dirt floor, wanting to toss me to the side. Everything tipped, my legs locking around his thighs on instinct. I jabbed my hand into the dirt next to Tyler's head, digging my fingers in and pressing an arm to his shoulder to flatten him.

"No one else would bother to put in the effort!" Tyler's knees knocked into my back, and I did my best to spread my weight out and hold my position, mind still racing and voice on the verge of breaking. "How did you find her? _Where is she?!_ "

The crowd converged, tightening the circle and making it harder to breathe. No one stepped in though, not even Tyler's friends. People were talking all around us, their chatter blurring into one loud buzz that rattled in the back of my skull. Tyler kept fighting, every push and pull getting rougher and rougher, until he wasn't on the defensive anymore, he was fighting me to be the one in control.

"She's where she's supposed to be. Far away from you and almost cured."

All sounds were vacuumed out, harsh ringing in my ears high and keening. A flood of rage swept through me, mingling with the bottle of Sara's—my—suppressed emotions, hidden deep within my chest. The cap unscrewed a bit, pressure from it creating an imaginary bubble of air which caught in my throat. Instead of tears heating behind my eyelids, there was something dangerous in my veins. More pressure released, enough to burst the bubble in my throat, enough to cause a whining hiss behind my bared teeth.

"Why do you hate me?" The words felt like blades sliding down my tongue, cutting through the small space between us. "Why do you hate who I am?"

It wasn't the time for an existential crisis, for a heart to heart while surrounded by our classmates. The question came forth unbiddenly, a rip in the fold of the mask I'd composed these past few minutes. The split between me and the residual effects of Sara became ever present; she'd always been out for blood, unstable and violent and prone to finding some sick joy in the pain of it all. Where I, in my world, had learned to deal with my anger and not act upon it, she had not. For her, it had been her method of surviving all the bullshit she'd been dealt. I knew that the second I'd laid eyes on the photo of Sophie, what I'd felt, the sheer grief that laced my insides, was heightened because Sara's emotions were _my_ emotions. She'd disappeared and left me parts of her I couldn't shake. Anger was only one of them.

Right now, _I_ was breaking through the fog of Sara's leftover hostility. I genuinely wanted to understand what Tyler hated about me so much to go from being a good friend to someone who'd watch me get my ass kicked a few times a month. How he'd turned his back on me and decided ruining my life was better. It had to go deeper than just the clothes I'd wear, then just the people I was attracted to. But whenever I tried to look back far enough, scan through my memories of us, there was a wall I'd reach which, even with this body being more mine than it had been before, I couldn't see past.

Tyler stopped struggling, the dark shadows on his face making him seem tired—weak, almost. "You're not normal. You're inhuman. _That's_ why I hate you."

The fire returned, a flood across my skin. Tears pricked my eyes as I tightened my hold on his collar, the bottle cap twisting to the right just a little more, air releasing in a small dose. I exhaled through my nose, nails itching. As much as these emotions were Sara's, they were only heightening what I felt, and what I felt was _rage._ All-consuming and desperate to crack my ribs open in its haste to get out.

"I'm _inhuman?_ You're the one who fed Vicki's addiction just so you could manipulate her for your own gain." The way Tyler was gripping the underside of my arms told me I'd be covered in bruises come morning. The murmuring grew in volume, some light flickered over us. Mounting anticipation churned low in my stomach. "If she meant so damn much to you for you to go as far as finding Sophie to paint me as some kind of monster, then why did you lie to her? Cheat on her? Keep giving her drugs and alcohol and treat her as a toy? If she meant so much to you, why were you so fucking ashamed to be seen with her? You never made it official, never mentioned it to your friends. You didn't even want your parents to know about her. If I'm inhuman, then you are _too_."

My head snapped to the side, force of Tyler's punch knocking me back. For a fraction of a second, I was suspended midair, his legs having heaved me up the same time his fist met my jaw. Everything went black in awful shades once my head smacked right into the pavement, body contorting terribly on impact. Sucking in a breath—lungs forgetting how to work—I laid on the ground, stunned. Air whistled down my throat, chest rising after a few beats filled with panic. The pain which bloomed across my jaw was nothing compared to the sickening ache at the back of my head, trembling hand inching along my scalp to check for blood.

There was a moment of utter silence as I raised my hand to my face, blood free and dirt covered, where no one moved, almost as if everyone was holding their breaths collectively. I dragged myself to a half-sitting position, eyes unfocused. A muffled scream scraped along the insides of my skull then, sliver of blue disappearing when I blinked, the sound stopping abruptly right after. The stadium lights kept me from seeing much, but I assumed it came from the crowd.

Tyler was staring at me wide-eyed, frozen in the act of standing up, one knee still pressed to the floor. Despite the shock, the way color drained from his features and left him as white as the moon above, there was a gleam there—a burning hostility waiting to be released. Blinking again and checking once more for blood, I took the absence of it as a good sign. Something clicked then, a switch somewhere, and autopilot revved into place.

My movements were uncoordinated as I advanced on Tyler, unintentionally giving him enough time to see me coming and understand my intent. Matt had taught me how to deflect though, how to fake out a hit and confuse your opponent. Tyler was a sloppy fighter, rough with intention and charged with emotion; he was never taught how to hit properly, the way to position your legs or angle your body. I'd been training almost every day since the bullying began, knew where to shift and how to take the pain of a punch without making yourself vulnerable for another. The disadvantage lied in Tyler's height and build—forcing me to rely on smarts and agility rather than strength advantage. My arms were moving automatically, feet firm under me; I could feel the push and pull of muscle and ache of my knuckles when they met Tyler's flesh. My first punch landed low on his torso, Tyler's body curling over mine when he recoiled, and was worth the elbow which clipped my shoulder in retaliation.

The sensation of skin and muscle and the rumble of bone beneath my fists brought forth a side of me which absolutely thrived—delirious joy rushing to my head and fueling every movement. Something bitter worked its way up my throat but I choked it down, huffing a curt laugh in jittery excitement. I felt almost completely unhinged, my lip split open from a sharp slightly misjudged uppercut, Tyler's nose smeared with blood from my knuckles.

There was shouting, incomprehensible words which circled Tyler and I, toe to toe, and only made my heart beat faster, exhilarated and utterly lost to primal instinct. The feeling from one of my cheekbones had gone completely, right side of my jaw hurting so bad I thought it'd been dislocated. A numbness spread along my limbs, quicker with each new hit. My recovery was faster, faster, _faster._ I couldn't feel a damn thing anymore.

Jabbing, hard, quick, into Tyler's ribs—he was on the defensive. He blocked once, twice, dodged another. He moved backward, away, out of breath. My relentless drilling forcing me to keep going, keep swinging, Matt's voice so loud and clear in my head it drowned out the shouting from the crowd and blood rushing in my ears.

I didn't stop, _couldn't_ stop. Tyler looked worse for wear, still blocking, waiting for an opening. I felt the exact moment one of my fingers bent too far to the side from the force of my hit, probably broken. I wondered if I'd broken anything of Tyler's.

Spit and blood spurting from Tyler's mouth, I paused. My head cleared so violently then that nausea gurgled at the pit of my stomach, acid bubbling in my intestines. The strength drained out of me in one fell swoop, swaying in place. I didn't even know why I was fighting.

This wasn't me.

And this—this wasn't _Tyler._

Staring at my hands, open cuts trickling down my fingers and wrists, I realized I'd been hurting someone who used to mean so much to me. Who used to teach me how to play football and throw a perfect spiral; who showed me how to not get a hangover and what alcohol to avoid; who encouraged me to join cross country a few weeks before he started avoiding me.

I stopped moving altogether, two of us frozen for one full second in a weird embrace where I was practically nestled into Tyler's chest and he was holding the tops of my arms. But then the world was spinning, sky suddenly in my direct line of sight.

I took the full brunt of Tyler's weight, pop of my shoulder background noise to the blow I got in the face. The fight in me was gone.

There was blood, there was pain. I couldn't see anymore, and I didn't know if it was because my vision blackened or because my eyes got blood in them. Everything hurt so much but I didn't move. I just accepted it.

That didn't last long before Tyler's weight was suddenly gone, uproar of shouting surrounding me. There was movement—something to focus on—garbled yelling and spray of dirt over me.

Someone touched me, feather light and wispy, voice faraway. My eyelashes were brushed against, and my lids popped open, the left one harder to move and heavy with swelling; I could feel the heat of it pressing against my eyeball. A blurry Matt peered down at me, lips moving but ears not registering the sound.

Another gentle touch to the back of my head, still enough to make me wince, which pulled at the skin of my lips and caused fresh blood to flood my mouth. Matt moved slowly, taking care to not jostle me, and eventually managed to heft me up in his arms, bridal style. I was shaking so much, full body tremors so strong it took me a moment to realize that it was him—it'd been Matt, vibrating with anger. Not at me, but at Tyler because of the fight. Because of the flyers. The flyers.

A sob worked its way up, forcing me to choke on it and spit up blood onto my shirt. Matt held me close despite his gear getting in the way, and I painstakingly pressed myself into his shoulder, willing him to take me somewhere else. I could feel the breakdown coming, thin thread of self-control pulled so taut it physically hurt to hold it together. I didn't want the entire school to see me fall apart right after a fight, covered in blood, injured, and so vulnerable the mere thought of it hurt me so much I burrowed deeper into Matt's arms, like a scared child thinking they could hide from the world within the arms of their parent. Matt shifted, started moving, carrying me somewhere and I didn't even care to ask where, limp in his arms except for my turned face and post adrenaline-fueled twitches.

The crowd parted for us, only serving to remind me of earlier that night, and I pretended I didn't hear people rushing to Tyler's aid.

The air was cold, biting into my open wounds, making me acutely aware of every single ache. Matt set me down on a bench, away from the locker rooms but still within reach of the stadium lights. They seemed duller, somehow. Matt's lips were moving again, the words lost to me. I couldn't even bother to care, mind faraway and chest heavy. It hurt to breathe.

He glanced down at his jersey, seemingly unsatisfied, before locking eyes with me again and gesturing back the way we came. He pointed again, searching for a reaction and getting none, before bowing his head and starting to move in that direction. Eventually he turned his back on me and quickened his pace when I didn't move. I sat there and watched him leave blankly. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew he was probably getting something to clean me up, so I didn't panic.

A drop of blood from my lip ran down my chin and splattered against my knee, laying atop dirt. The outline of it was barely visible, red on dark brown on black jeans. The spot grew bigger when another drop fell, and another, only it wasn't from my lip, but from somewhere else on my face. A breeze passed, and I felt each wet spot profoundly.

Enraptured by the blood trickling down my skin, I didn't notice the notice the shoes only inches from me at first, but the person shifted, only source of light being covered in favor of a shadow draping over me. I raised my head, fully expecting it to be Matt and therefore lazily leaning back in response to stop the blood from continuing to ruin my pants.

Except it wasn't Matt.

"Sam," Stefan whispered lowly, looking absolutely distraught. He halted mid-breath, a beat or two passing before he _really_ noticed me, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to form words. I just stared at him.

It was then that I spotted the blood smeared on his shirt, hand mark near the collar unmistakable. What made it worse though was that I recognized it, could picture myself looking down and seeing that same mark on my own shirt, only upside down.

"Sam," Stefan tried again, muscles of his throat pulled tight, the distance he kept between us startling. "Damon attacked Elena."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment, still as stone, before continuing, "He-he found me near the bleachers, and he said I'd be the one blamed for harming her. Then he—" Stefan cut off, the light which spilled over him illuminating the abnormalities of his face. His eyes were dark, green nonexistent; the curl of his lips made it so his fangs peeked out, gleaming dangerously. He was watching me in a way that made my skin crawl, even after everything that'd happened that night. "Damon put her blood on my shirt and face, and then disappeared."

My eyes finally seemed to focus on the still wet blood caking the hinge of his jaw, the swell of his bottom lip, the dip creasing his chin—all hidden in shadow. I could taste my own blood still, pooling slowly behind my lips and surely staining my teeth. It was almost obscene how similar it was to that morning.

I keeled forward and threw up.

* * *

 **...**

* * *

 **end author's note:** _i've got a stressful few weeks ahead of me bc of college with midterms, presentations, and lots of essays. not sure when the next chapter will be up (hopefully not too long from now, but i can't make any promises!) so i hope you enjoyed this one being extra-long_ ; _it's the longest chapter to date. since chapter 14, each one has been an episode of season one._ _this vaguely followed episode three, but the next chapter will be branching out even further from the original timeline. i'll make sure to let y'all know how much time has passed, though. and what episode I followed, if any. wishing you all an awesome rest of the week!_


	17. Chapter 17

Pain laced the bolt of my jaw, cut on my lip tearing open just a little more. Stefan stayed still, off to the side. The world groaned and settled beneath my feet, knees creaking in protest as I made to stand, back of the bench digging into the meat of my palm. Blood trickled down my throat, seeping into my already soiled shirt. Flakes of dirt fluttered off my clothes to the ground, joining the vomit by my feet.

"Fuck," I rasped, nearly weeping with the effort to move but holding it back by sheer force of will. " _Fuck_."

Stefan said nothing, face half-turned away and nostrils flaring. His entire body was shaking with the heaviness of his breathing, the sound loud in the quiet of the night. He looked just about ready to tear his shirt off, the capillaries under his eyes fighting to spread lower and lower and flush his eyes that particular shade of red that meant there was no going back.

Staggering back onto the bench, I whimpered as an explosion of pain skirted up my spine. My vision blurred, body swayed, and the urge to cry was so prominent I had to choke it down. I blinked to clear my sight, but kept seeing things that weren't there, afterimages of red and blue and that goddamn bloody shirt that I now knew was Stefan's.

Rather reluctantly, I focused back on him. He hadn't moved an inch.

The fact that he didn't seem able to take his shirt off on his own prompted me to awkwardly scoot forward, a slowly outstretched hand catching his attention. The muscles in my arms screamed in protest, awful bruising on my index finger reminding me of the possible fracture in the bone, but I still gestured for him to look at me, to understand I was trying to communicate.

"Shirt," I whispered, the effort to speak much harder than it should've been. "Give it."

Stefan froze, a wild look in his eyes and fangs cutting into his bottom lip. He seemed just about ready to bite someone's head clean off, pupils blown to hell and trained on me.

The urge to vomit again clenched my stomach, hand now uselessly trembling in the air between us. I heard a phone ringing in the distance, but if I listened closely enough it felt like it was right next to me. The stadium lights flickered, shadows dancing dangerously across Stefan's face. It wasn't until the echo of Elena's scream cut through the noise in my head that I realized I'd been dissociating.

"We'll pretend the blood's mine," I said hoarsely, almost impatiently. Every inch of my body was pulled taut from the strength it took to keep my heart from beating too quickly. The wheels in my head were beginning to turn, slow to function from having screeched to a halt minutes before. "People can't see you like this."

Stefan steeled himself at that, chest rising with a deep breath which made his fingers twitch. He didn't move for a few seconds, long enough to make me think he wasn't going to move at all, not lifting his arms until the capillaries smoothed down into clear skin and the white of his eyes were visible. His shirt was off and smacking into my chest a moment later, Stefan curling forward into himself as he gave a full body shudder.

The smell of blood flooded my nose; I felt nauseous all over again. I couldn't imagine how it must've felt for Stefan.

I clutched the shirt in my arms, a good fifteen feet between us. Forcing down the urge to gag, I wiped my face and neck along the handprint, blurring my blood with it to make it just another stain. Stefan struggled to catch his breath.

"Matt's gonna… he's gonna be back." I found a clean patch on the back of the shirt, keeping it away from the bloody parts, ignoring the throbbing zipping along my temple. I felt dizzy. "You have blood on your face."

Stefan growled, though the sound was soft, slightly pained. One foot dug deep into the ground, other braced on his thigh. The muscles of his back were tense, pulled tight like a rubber band about to snap in half. The capillaries started to slither back down his cheeks.

"Stefan," the blood on his face glimmered in the moonlight, sight almost ethereal, "c'mere." I lifted the shirt, Stefan's eyes drawn to it immediately.

It took him what felt like minutes to shuffle closer, the predatory vibe he emitted increased tenfold. My skin felt just about ready to crawl off.

He cautiously, slowly, set himself on the bench, white knuckled grip a show of how much he was working to keep himself under wraps.

Stefan was stone beneath my fingertips, most of the blood coming off his jaw in one quick swipe, his pulse hammering away. His lower lip had the most blood on it, hidden under the swell and curling all the way around, the bottom portion of his mouth gleaming red. I steadied myself, gentle around his fangs and lips, careful not to accidentally smear any blood further into his mouth.

His chin was a little tougher, the blood having dried. Stefan had his eyes squeezed shut, the lack of warm breath hitting my fingers an indication of him not breathing. I swallowed until I didn't taste blood anymore, licking my teeth clean and grimacing all the while. I pretended not to be weirded out by what I was about to do before wetting a part of the shirt with my tongue and using it to scrub at his skin.

The moment I pulled away, Stefan's eyes were wide open, a tremor racing up his torso and body recoiling from mine. He hissed a long breath through his teeth, pointedly not facing my direction. I winced when the wood of the bench _cracked_ a moment later. I painstakingly shifted away from him, shirt balled up in my lap.

"Sam?"

The urge to snap upright and look like a deer caught in headlights was overwhelming, but instead I shoved the shirt against my cheek, wiping distractedly. Matt slowed to a stop in front of me, eyeing Stefan all the while. He felt smaller than before, the lack of gear on his shoulders startling.

The box, wide and bulky in his hands, reflected the moonlight. I saw white for a second, had a sudden influx of pain around my neck, but felt only hot skin when I reached up to touch it.

"She was bleeding badly. I didn't know you were already helping her," Stefan said, strained. He was closer than he'd been before, intense gaze on Matt. "I believe she's in shock."

The line between Matt's brows deepened. "It's cool, man. I didn't want to leave her alone, but I couldn't do much without a kit." With that, he clicked the box open, band aids of various sizes, gauze pads, wraps—and other things I didn't care to identify—all divided into neat sections. He started rifling through, the top portion lifting out and revealing more things below. "Thanks for keeping her company," Matt paused, glancing at the shirt I had pressed to my nose now. "And giving her something to stop the bleeding with. Looks like she lost a lot of blood."

I stayed quiet, distracting myself with Matt, who was settling himself in a comfortable position framed by my knees; he didn't comment on the vomit only a few inches away, only sparing it a quick look over before dismissing it. I was grateful for not having to explain it. He disinfected his hands before gesturing at me to peel the shirt from my face, frowning at the amount of blood on it.

"Do you want to borrow a shirt?" Matt asked Stefan, pouring something onto a cloth from a bottle. "I think I have a spare in my duffel."

"I'd appreciate that." Stefan attempted a smile, though it came off too sharp around the edges.

Matt nodded without looking at him. "It's in the locker room, I'll get it after I'm done."

He waited until he had my attention to gingerly wipe down my skin, keeping clear of my cuts and swollen areas. It only hurt when he had to go in the wounds with disinfected tweezers and cotton swabs, but the sting lessened when he applied antibiotic. The whole process moved by quickly, Matt's hands practiced.

"I'm almost finished with your face. Got anything else for me to look at?"

My jeans were torn and the back of my jacket was ripped—other than that there were only scrapes and possible bruises, a budding, sick ache low on my ribs, and the hinge of my jaw locking up if I moved it. Those didn't feel like fractures, though.

I held out my hand, Matt glancing down at it from where he was covering the cut above my eyebrow.

"Does it feel broken?" He asked; I shook my head.

"Sprained?" He tried again. I shrugged limply. "All right. Let me take a look at it."

The second he touched the skin around it, I tightened up, pain spiking along my wrist and forearm. Stefan stiffened when Matt was about to test the range of movement of the joint, looking across the lot we were in and toward where the field was. I could practically see his ears perking up, and it took all of four or five seconds before the shrill whining of an ambulance echoed around us.

"Someone must've called an ambulance for Tyler," Matt said, moving my finger to the side and startling me out of my trance. I cried out, sound almost a wail. "See if you can move it yourself," he instructed while patting my knee, a small comfort. I pulled my hand away and gritted my teeth—there was some range of motion. It wasn't much, but more than a broken finger had any right having.

"There's no popping sound when you move the joint, and I can't feel or see the bone sticking out. I think you jammed it." Matt stood, ignoring the dirt on his pants and grabbing a white roll out of the box. "You should get it checked out when you can. But for now, I'm gonna wrap it up."

"Sorry," Stefan cut in, confused glint in his eyes. He looked completely unaffected by the cold, skin smooth and posture somewhat relaxed. I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his shoulder, something I'd almost completely forgotten until now. The rose was hard to miss; I hoped Matt wouldn't notice. "Why would Tyler need an ambulance?"

The roll hovered over me as Matt took a brief moment to figure out how to answer that. I followed the pattern the texture made, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Matt finally settled on, "If you think Sam looks bad—Tyler looks worse," and left it at that.

The bubbling thought of _Sophie, Sophie, Sophie, Sophie_ threatened to break the thin thread of control I'd managed to obtain. The panic rising in my chest was broken by Matt as he wrapped my index and middle finger together, enough movement to make me wince all the while. I briefly remembered Matt mentioning to me, a while back, why this was done with jammed fingers. Something about support, or protection.

"Come on, we should head to where the police are on the other side of the field." Matt guided me to stand, steadying me with hands to my elbows. "You're fine to walk, right?"

Briefly, I entertained the thought of lying, of making this entire situation even more difficult and forcing Matt to carry me. I didn't want to go anywhere near other people; I could still feel their eyes on my back as I fought with Tyler and hear their voices shouting. The last thing I needed was to let them all see me like this, with parts of my face swelling up and weak with the loss of adrenaline. It felt more private then when Matt pulled Tyler off me and they were all staring. The overwhelming sense of vulnerability froze me to the spot.

I refused to move when Matt made to walk, frowning deeply to myself. I was in no condition to run but wondered if I could complain my way out of this.

"Sam," Matt sighed, crouching in front of me again. "This isn't like other times."

The reminder of the past hurt more than it should, like the crack of a whip against already smarting skin. I reeled back, scowling as much as I could without pulling too much at the tender skin of my lips. Something in my shoulder popped with the quick movement, Matt wincing in sympathy. I hissed, slumping against the wooden backing of the bench, Stefan watching silently all the while. I glared at him.

"I could take her home," Stefan offered, a step closer.

Matt shook his head, hands firm on my knees. "That's not it. She needs to talk to the police." Catching my gaze, he continued, "I know you think it won't do any good, but if Tyler blames the whole thing on you and you aren't there to defend yourself, it's gonna look bad."

A second passed with me gritting my teeth before I huffed loudly, shoving myself to stand with the most severe grimace I could muster. Matt curled a hand around an elbow, Stefan trailing closely behind.

The temperature of the air was dropping, cold autumn breeze cutting against any damp spots on my clothes. The way back wasn't long, but it felt like miles with how slow we were moving, my feet dragging across the pavement in aching strides.

We'd just finished turning a corner when Matt cursed softly, twisting his entire body around to look behind him.

"Is everything all right?" Stefan asked.

"I left all my things in the locker room," he said, groaning in annoyance. "Which might not even be open. My keys, my phone, duffel—everything's in there."

Leaves skittered over cement, sound startling in the quiet. Stefan settled a hand on my arm, reassuring. "I can watch over her while you go back to check. We'll keep moving, you can catch up."

Matt hesitated, glancing at me questioningly. I attempted a smile.

"I'll be back quick, I promise. If you reach the police before I get back, try to find Sheriff Forbes—," glancing at Stefan, he added, "that's Caroline's mom—or someone who'll report what you tell them back to her. We can trust her."

Matt was jogging away from us before I could blink, out of sight a moment later. Stefan, with a gentleness that completely opposed the intensity of his demeanor, guided me forward. He was unsettlingly still again, the tight pull to his expression a sign of not breathing.

We only made about three or four feet of progress before the shrill whine of the ambulance's siren started again. My stomach quivered—short, vivid flashes of blood and lights and a familiar blue all cutting through my sight. Stefan tried to snap me out of it, the distant call of my name white noise to the god-awful gurgling scream that I knew—just knew—was Elena's.

I was throwing up before I could even register it, body sagging and Stefan holding me up with one arm to my waist and another moving my hair out of the way. I used Stefan's shirt to wipe my mouth, gagging all over again when the heady scent of blood filled my nose.

The rest of the walk was a blur, my right kneecap pulsing and the sick throbbing on the back of my head returning with a vengeance. Stefan patted my arm to get my attention, the sudden influx of noise deafening.

"Everyone's here," he said, scanning the crowd. I bowed my head reflexively, uselessly fumbling with the bloody shirt in my hands. "We stand out, there's no use trying to not draw attention."

Despite that, Stefan nudged me behind him, the broad expanse of his back blocking me from view and my head no longer hiding his tattoo. Part of me seethed at the way this screamed _weak_ and _scared._ My peripheral vision was brimming with movement, hushed voices and radios crackling soft echos. For a fraction of a second, I reached for Stefan's back, momentarily forgetting he was shirtless and wanting something to clutch. I realized my mistake and withdrew my fingers, grasping air and pressing a fist to my chest.

We were moving, small steps forward with no real direction other than to find Sheriff Forbes. I dug my nails into the shirt I still held, knuckles stinging in protest.

A flashlight beam illuminated something across the parking lot; a brief, staggering flash of white on yellow and black tape. Someone was crying and sniffling, the sound grating in the already stifling array of noise.

All at once, I could _feel_ the air thicken. Stumbling into Stefan's back, his forearm quick to keep me steady, the nausea returned.

People were staring.

I couldn't be bothered to check if it was because of Stefan, without a shirt and in his full fucking glory, marching toward the police like a man on a mission—or because of me, hobbling on behind him looking like I'd been strapped to the back of a car and dragged through dirt. Maybe it was a combination of both, of the fact that I was holding a shirt that was covered in blood stains with Stefan shielding me from the world. Whatever the reason, I didn't care and couldn't be bothered _to_ care. I wasn't going to cower in the shadow of Stefan.

I did my best to match Stefan's pace, only slightly intimidated by the numerous amount of police officers. In the midst were students being questioned in various states of distress. Stefan made eye contact with the first available officer there was and approached, slow enough to let me keep up but still quick, legs unsteady beneath me.

"Excuse me." Stefan put a hand to my back, nudging me forward. "We have something we'd like to report to the police. Is Sheriff Forbes here, by any chance?"

The officer glanced between the two of us, eyes narrowing when noticing Stefan's lack of a shirt and the state of my face. I tried my best to stand tall and cover his tattoo with my hair.

"She is currently indisposed," the officer replied, smoothly pulling a pen and pad from a hidden pocket on his uniform. "I'm Officer Miles. You can make the report with me."

My throat was dry, so dry that my tongue wouldn't budge when I tried to move it. Stefan took pity on my silence and started speaking.

"I'm Stefan Salvatore, and this is Sam Bennett. Earlier tonight Tyler Lockwood, a classmate of ours…"

I completely zoned out, a cold sweat breaking out across my face and neck. The stadium lights above us blurred, pure white smearing in one great arc. I blinked, but that only made my vision unfocused, little black dots dancing in my peripheral. The back of my hand brushed against Stefan's denim clad leg.

Something gold gleamed, warm light catching on the curve of it. I opened my mouth, worried. I couldn't see anyone anymore, my only reassurance that I wasn't somewhere else completely being Stefan's presence beside me.

The gold gleamed again, this time the circular, faded milky inside reflecting light. My chest tightened, rusty looking arrow pointing somewhere to the left.

"…talking much since I found her."

In the span of looking to the side, Stefan's voice shattering my trance, my sight wiped clean. I let out a shaky breath, jagged pain cutting up my scalp.

"The flyers," I said distractedly, swallowing thickly. My voice was too high, too strained, a hoarse speck of what it usually was. "He—Tyler put them up."

"What flyers?" Officer Miles asked, pen hovering over cream paper.

"The ones all over the place. With—with So—" heat pressed against my eyes, muscle under my jaw taut, "—he put flyers up of Sophie Young."

Just as the world started spinning, Stefan had a hand on my arm and another braced against my shoulders. A blossoming of warmth from the center of my chest dulled the roar in my head, aches dying down slightly.

Officer Miles' expression became one of understanding the second I mentioned Sophie's name. Everyone in this town knew who she was.

"Why do you think he was the one who put up these flyers?"

There was a pause. The tear on my lip reopened. "He hates me. He hates that I'm not—I'm not straight."

The coppery tang of blood trickled in my mouth. I lifted the shirt compulsively, sensing Stefan tensing up in response. "He planned all of this. He wants everyone in this fucking town to hate me, too." Another pause, this one shorter than the last; I huffed a laugh. "I guess he got what he wanted. It's just—he had no right to bring her—bring Sophie, into this. I-I…it's wrong on so many levels. I don't care that we fought, I care that he tracked her down and took a photo of her for-for _shock_ value. She's out there—suffering and, and probably scared—"

"Sam?" I choked on what I was about to say, air caught in my throat. All I saw was short blonde hair. "Oh goodness, what happened?"

A sob bubbled up, lashes wet. I felt so goddamn _tired_. "I'm—I'm fine."

"Sheriff," Officer Miles interrupted, uncertain. Not uncomfortable, but almost like a fish out of water with a pond nearby. "I think you should handle this."

Despite the imaginary weight on my shoulders, I could still hear the unspoken message of _no one else will take this report seriously_ mixed with _I don't know what to do._ Stefan lightly squeezed my arm; I resisted the urge to scream and pull my hair out in frustration.

Liz Forbes—mostly in shadow because of the angle of the stadium lights—placed her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes were quick across my face, missing nothing and leaving me feeling exposed. "Thank you, Miles. Jackson and Morris could use your help near the crime scene."

Officer Miles nodded at us, pocketing his pen and pad before striding away. A breeze passed, but I barely felt it.

"Sam," Liz said, and I forced myself to make eye contact with her. "Who was it?"

"Tyler."

She didn't seem surprised, only sighing, but suddenly looked incredibly older. "I found a flyer taped to a pole near the entrance of the school. I am so, so sorry."

Heat pricked at my ears and neck, an uneasy combination of embarrassment and anger flashing bright under my skin. I opened my mouth, tongue dry, seeing gold when I squeezed my eyes shut for too long.

"It's not right," I whispered, something awful settling in my stomach. "He shouldn't have—she had nothing to do with this."

Before I finished speaking, I knew the words weren't true, and I sounded like a broken record repeating them to anyone who'd listen. She had everything to do with it. It just wasn't her fault, it'd been mine. It was all my fault.

"I'm going to make sure this sees its end." The light hit me directly in the face, Liz having shifted to the side closer to Stefan and me, her expression serious. "But that's only possible if you're honest with me, okay? I understand why you felt the need to stay quiet before, but I can only do so much without your cooperation. I need it, fully, along with your honesty." She glanced around us, pitching her voice low as she said, "Maybe, if everything goes well, we can even work something out with the Young family. Despite that type of therapy being legal in the state, there's loopholes to it. We can get her out, it just won't be easy."

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, taken aback. My chest ached with more than just the fight that night. "Okay," I said, eyes unfocused and faraway. "I'll cooperate, I promise."

The world flickered black for a moment, old looking gears and mechanical pieces shaping themselves in front of me. It reminded me of the skeleton of a watch—all small, intricate metal and smooth surfaces. It disappeared within a box, the colors swirling so much until I couldn't make anything out.

"…hospital. Tomorrow you'll have to give an official report to me. I'll see if I'm able to pass by your home in the morning. Your uncle will have to be present."

"Sure." Stefan steadied me when my knees wobbled, taking over because I couldn't be bothered to register the words. "Got it."

Liz brought me in for a quick hug, extremely gentle. I snapped out of my trance and felt something shift behind my ribs. "I know there's a lot on your mind right now. Tonight, focus on getting to the hospital and being looked over." A radio close by buzzed with static, muted voice crackling through. The sudden urge to cry was overwhelming. I blinked the wetness away, glaring smear of the lights around me almost beautiful. Liz glanced over me again but managed a smile despite how pathetic I must've looked. "Elena is a very strong person, she'll be all right. And the girls are shaken up but they're strong, too. You all are."

My brain fizzled out at that point, swarm of sound cutting out all at once. "The girls?" I asked, confused. Stefan's grip tightened. "What do you mean? Where are they?"

Liz's brows pinched together, concern flickering over her features. "They're being questioned, but I know Bonnie was impatient to clean herself up." She glanced somewhere off to the side, lips thin. "Caroline isn't responding well. She's barely spoken."

"Oh," I said, the breath knocking out of me in one sharp exhale. "Can I—can I see them?"

Another loud crackle; my vision fogged up in response.

"Of course," she replied quickly, voice over the radio taking up her attention. It cut out abruptly, whatever was said lost on me. "Once they're finished answering questions, you can speak to them."

She pulled her radio up, close to her mouth, speaking clear and authoritatively. Stefan adjusted his hold, keeping my feet flat on the ground.

"I have to go." Liz placed her hand on my shoulder again, brief and warm. "I won't be coming home tonight, and Caroline isn't in any condition to be alone. Would she be able to stay with you?"

I was nodding even before she asked the question, mind somewhere else.

"Thank you, Sam. Stefan," she turned to him, suddenly serious, "please take care of her. Make sure she's examined at the hospital."

"I will, Sheriff."

With Stefan's response, Liz was striding away, approaching a small group of officers. My stomach spasmed, reminding me of how I'd thrown up twice that night.

"I should have told you," Stefan said, voice full of regret. I turned in his direction, not making eye contact. "I had been…so focused on Elena that it slipped my mind to tell you who found her. I'm sorry."

I half-deflated, limbs heavy in the way they were when you feel just about ready to collapse into bed after a long day. I was balancing on a precarious edge.

"What even happened today?" I asked, mostly to myself. "It doesn't seem real. None of it does."

Stefan started to guide me away, my feet scraping awkwardly against the pavement. "We'll figure it out. First, we have to speak to Bonnie and Caroline."

I swayed into his side, almost tripping but righting myself at the last second. The pain low on my ribs ebbed. "People are gonna notice your tattoo."

I don't know why I said it, maybe it was because I'd been so paranoid about someone seeing it—someone questioning why this supposedly 17-year-old had a decently large rose tattooed on his shoulder in 2009. Maybe they wouldn't question the timeline (seeing as this was the present for them) but right now tattoos weren't as common as they would be in the future. Regardless, I didn't want Stefan standing out even more than he already had. The fact that this small detail took precedent in my mind despite everything that'd happened this night made me feel disjointed, disconnected. My priorities weren't in order—but if I didn't fuss over this, over something like how suspicious Stefan looked or the already present bandaging on my finger or even how I kept spacing out, then I'd have to focus on those goddamn flyers and the terrible fucking ache in my bones.

"It's fine, I already have a story for it," Stefan replied easily, the bright fluorescent lights above becoming more bearable the farther we walked. "We have bigger things to worry about."

Time slipped through my fingers then; I couldn't seem to get a proper grasp on it. It felt like I had only just blinked when suddenly Matt was in front of us—yet in that same moment, in that blink, I completely dissociated.

"Did you—did you guys hear about Elena?" Matt asked, absolutely frantic. His hands were shaking and he was clutching at his stuff so tightly his fingers were white. "Tanner told me, said she's in critical condition. I-I have to go to the hospital."

He sounded short of breath. Too dazed to answer and lacking a proper response, I nodded jerkily.

"We spoke to the Sheriff." Stefan gestured to me, eyes dark. "She promised she's going to take care of the situation."

Matt stuttered out a sigh, shoulders relaxing a fraction. His eyes flickered between the two of us, lingering on Stefan's hand around my arm. "That's good to hear. Here." He pulled a shirt out, tossing it over unsteadily. "Thanks for helping her."

Stefan gave a small smile, making sure I was leaning against the wall before tugging Matt's shirt on. "It was no problem. I appreciate the shirt."

"Anytime." Matt looked away for a brief moment before glancing over us again. He seemed hesitant, but after locking eyes with Stefan asked, "Would you like to hitch a ride with me to the hospital? I know you—that you must be worried about Elena, too."

Stefan appeared conflicted, eyebrows wrinkling in thought. He considered it, regaining his hold on me.

Shaking his head, he said, "You should look after Elena. I'll make sure Sam sees a doctor and that Bonnie and Caroline get home safely."

Another sigh from Matt, this one leaving him distraught. "I can't imagine how they're feeling. Jesus…this night just keeps getting worse and worse."

I shivered for the hundredth time, wherever my skin touched blood-damp clothing prickly with goosebumps. "We're alive," I huffed, gingerly wrapping my arms around myself. "That counts for something, right?"

"It does, but the fact that it came down to that isn't a good thing." He rocked back on his heels, still holding his duffel and backpack like they were a lifeline. "It's Mystic Falls. Nothing bad ever happens here."

I had the weirdest sense of déjà vu, vision tunneling black for a moment. Stefan's hand kept me grounded.

"At least, nothing bad ever _happened_ here. Something's changed." Matt scrubbed at his jaw, looking more exhausted than I'd ever seen him. It reminded me of those few weeks after Elena had broken up with him, or before that, when his mom stopped showing up as frequently, or even way before that, when his stomach would rumble so loudly his eyes would be glassy from the tears it took not to react.

"I hope it's a temporary change." Stefan bowed his head, guilty expression fleeting across his features. "I'll make sure the girls are not alone and safe. Stay with Elena."

Matt seemed genuinely surprised for a few seconds, lips parting and a soft _whoosh_ escaping. He snapped out of it and nodded, reaching an arm up and patting Stefan's shoulder in a friendly manner, expression grateful. "Thanks. I mean it, man."

He turned to me, ducking down quickly to kiss the top of my head—something he'd only done a handful of times in the past. He was walking away and gone as fast as he'd appeared. The uneven texture of the wall behind me dug into my shoulders as I pressed back.

"I don't feel good," I whispered, inhaling shakily. "And this night isn't even close to ending."

"The girls will be done soon," Stefan reassured me. I thought he'd said that to ease my worries, but he jerked his chin in the direction of the police officers and taped off areas. "Bonnie is almost finished with an officer and Caroline went to the restroom with her mom."

I licked my lips, the chapped, torn skin ragged beneath my tongue. My taste buds tingled when I reached the split, still somewhat wet with blood and agitated with the movements of my mouth. The entire area ached horribly. I didn't even want to think about how painful sleeping tonight would be.

I fidgeted with my ripped jacket sleeve, noticing that at some point Stefan had taken his bloody shirt from me. Its absence left an acute empty sensation to my hands so sharp I had to press them against my sides, ignoring the discomfort it caused.

"Bonnie's on her way," Stefan said suddenly, making me snap upright. I hadn't realized I'd closed my eyes. "What will you tell her?"

The question caught me off guard. "The truth. Regardless of if you mean about Tyler or Damon."

He nodded, accepting my answer. I shifted my stance, trying to stand taller, wincing when about ten different areas flared up with pain.

Bonnie held a dark blanket tight around her shoulders, eyes roaming over the wide-spread crowd of police and school staff. Red flashed beneath her blanket, hem of her skirt peeking through. Stefan raised his arm and waved to grab her attention just as I noticed her shoes, which had been a pristine white this afternoon. They were now messily stained to match her uniform. The reality of what had happened bit at my insides.

"Shit," I hissed, last of my energy seeping out. "That—I can't believe—"

"Hey." Stefan caught Bonnie's eye, the sheer relief on her face grounding. She started to half-run toward us. "There's nothing we can do now other than figure out what to do. Do you think you can focus? Just for a little while?"

I muttered something incoherent in response, the warmth in the center of my chest spiking.

It was replaced with intense and immediate embarrassment the second Bonnie's entire expression fell when she zoned in on me.

" _Oh my god_ ," she whispered, horrified. "What—what the _hell_ happened?"

"Long story," I croaked, wincing when her hands reached out to touch me. She noticed, but still hovered close, eyes not lingering on any part for more than a second. "It's…not as important as Elena. I'll—ah, mention it later. Really, I'm fine. Matt patched me right up."

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Bonnie's back went ramrod straight, shoulders tensing under the thick of the blanket. "Matt patched you up? Does this—Is it happening again? Did they gang up on you?"

"No," I said, then wondered if I was technically lying. "I—it's complicated. This isn't like before, I'm not keeping anything from you. This just doesn't matter right now. We need to talk about Elena."

We stared at each other, unmoving. Slowly, she nodded once.

"How are you feeling?" Stefan asked, a safe distance away from Bonnie. I thought it was strange until he spoke, noticing the stiffness pulling at his jaw. Her shoes had Elena's blood on them.

Bonnie shifted, sagging forward into herself. "There was so—so much blood. Everyone keeps telling me she'll be okay, but they don't _actually_ know and like, like…"

Her eyes were transfixed on her hands, where I imagined Elena's blood had spilled. There was a gritty red under her nails. "She just had to take a phone call…how did this happen? She was gone for only a few minutes, she wasn't even that far. She should've been safe."

"She should have," Stefan agreed. His voice was heavy, thick. His pupils had dilated again, but the gleam of his fangs was nowhere to be found. "Damon did this. He said he wanted to put the blame on me, but I'm sure there's something else he's hiding. If all he wanted to do was expose what I am, then he would've done this a long time ago."

Bonnie shivered, somewhat shrinking in size. A white plume of air puffed from her lips. "He almost killed her," she whispered, eyes glassy. "I'm telling you both, Elena lost a lot of blood. I was sure she—that she wasn't going to make it because it just kept pouring out no matter what we did and, and Caroline had it all over her uniform. I don't know how—how she isn't, how she's…she's alive."

Bonnie's face, illuminated poorly by the faraway stadium lights, lacked her usual rich color. She looked sick, almost. Not all there.

"She'll be fine," Stefan reassured after it was obvious I wasn't going to respond. Something felt wrong, a budding chill crawling up my spine. My vision tilted on its axis. "I spoke to Sheriff Forbes and she'd been adamant that Elena would be all right. We'll figure out what we can tonight, once we're not here."

"What about Caroline?" I asked, muddled. I suddenly felt short of breath. "She's staying with us tonight."

Bonnie half-turned at my question, trying to find that familiar blonde heap of hair in the crowd. "I called 911 while Care tried to stop the bleeding. She went into shock once Elena passed out. She hasn't really said anything since. I…don't think it's a good idea to tell her what's going on. At least, not tonight. She needs to rest."

A soft buzzing thrummed along my skull, more heat flushing my skin. My eyes unfocused.

"I promised her before the game that I'd start being more honest about this. I know it isn't the right time, I really do. But we have to stick together, all of us, and we have to figure out what the _fuck_ to do. I can't keep her from this. I can't make her sit somewhere alone while we talk about Damon and Elena and where to move from here. If we don't tell her now, then when? There'll never a good time. Not with Damon around, not with vampires coming into town because of the tomb, not with the council being suspicious. Tonight would've—would've—" I wanted to say, _It would've been less of a shock to Caroline if she knew_ or _She would've been prepared for what happened_ but I knew neither of these things for certain. Knowing about vampires and how unsafe your hometown was didn't make it any easier to cope after your friend was attacked by one.

"Caroline has a great amount of stress on her at the moment. I understand she needs to be let in on what's happening, for her benefit and safety, but according to her mother and Bonnie, she's not in a good headspace."

"Are _any_ of us in a good headspace right now?" The question came out sharper than I'd intended it to. "Look at you, look at Bonnie, look at me. None of us are close to being okay. Yet we're still going to figure shit out because we don't have a choice. This is reality, and Caroline cannot—will not—be alone right now. Excluding her is worse than telling her. Imagine how she must feel. She has absolutely _no_ idea what the hell is going on."

Stefan's lips thinned. We held eye contact, silent. Something close to my knee faintly throbbed with pain. Bonnie, in my peripheral, tugged the blanket up to cover the lower half of her face.

Chest heaving with a long inhale, Stefan broke first. His nose wrinkled, eyebrows pinching in disgust. He let out a withering sigh.

"Fine," he said, frowning. He adjusted his grip on my arm. "Fine, we'll tell her. Tonight."

Relief flooded me. Not at the prospect of what laid ahead, but at my promise being kept. She'd get answers soon enough.

"Thank you."

Minutes pass, crowd diminishing. Bonnie's hand was warm and steady against my bicep, Stefan a few feet away from us both. When Caroline finally showed up, gently led by Liz with a matching blanket over her shoulders, I felt my stomach sink.

She looked terrible, her uniform wrinkled and stained from the collar down to the hem of her skirt. Her hands, an irritated red from what looked like multiple washes and lots of scrubbing, still bore Elena's blood in the creases and fine lines. Some of it was streaked in her hair and smeared along her calf, her shoes matching Bonnie's now. Her face was impassive, eyes downcast.

Liz gave us Caroline's duffel along with Bonnie's. Stefan carried both, looking ready to snap his own neck with how severe his expression became. The smell must've been overwhelming. Liz kissed Caroline's forehead, told us to be safe, and then we were on our way.

Stefan wasn't in any condition to be in a car with us, so he drove himself to the boarding house and the rest of us clambered into Bonnie's. We'd have to get the seats washed later, and probably buy an air freshener or two, but the ride was smooth. It passed by quick, quiet, with an unsettling atmosphere created by the looming trees on either side of us.

Something still felt wrong, off. A discomfort similar to the one felt after leaving the house in a rush but before you realize you forgot to lock the house. There was a lingering question, something missing, a nagging in your brain that just wouldn't go away. Not until the realization struck when it was too late.

We stumbled inside Stefan's home, Caroline still mute and dragging her feet wherever she went. Stefan left me in charge of showing the girls the rooms and showers before rushing from our presence. He carried himself tightly, a show of his restraint, so I let him disappear without fuss.

Both Bonnie and Caroline had a change of clothes in their duffels; I found plastic bags in the kitchen for their bloodied uniforms. The rooms I took them to were next to each other and down the hallway from Stefan's. Only Bonnie's eyes glimmered slightly with interest while we trekked up the long staircase and through the second floor.

Once they were situated, I rifled through room after room until I found spare clothing. It was an oversized black shirt and grey sweats, smelling of dust and the inside of the drawer, but they were clean.

The light in the downstairs bathroom was so painfully white I felt dizzy for a moment, sharp pain dragging along the back of my skull. It dug its fingers there and refused to let up even after I flicked the switch and stood in the inky darkness.

I couldn't bear the thought of seeing myself naked, so I stripped of my clothes and felt around, blind and slow, for what I needed. I made a mental note of anywhere there was torn skin and particularly tender spots, realizing I couldn't move around enough for a shower. The thought of a bath, while covered in blood and dirt and grit, was unappealing.

Warm, damp wash cloth in hand, I ran it gently over myself. Whenever it started to lose its soft texture, I'd rinse it out in the sink again and clean it with soap. It took a while to even get my torso clean, good hand aching from the strain and body cold from being exposed for so long.

I heard noise outside, from the main room—voices, something clinking in the kitchen. It was muffled, muted by the thick walls and winding hallways, but comforting all the same. I thought I recognized Bonnie's soft voice and Stefan's lower pitch mingling, but it was too far to tell for certain.

There was a knock on the door then, and I remembered I'd never locked it.

"Don't come in!" I wrapped a towel around myself, afraid of getting near the door and having it swing open and hit me, but also not wanting to aggravate the sting low on my head by having light pouring in abruptly. "I'm not dressed."

There was no reply. I shrugged the towel off, assuming whoever it was had left. The small beam of white under the door flickered.

"Do you need help?"

I paused, wet cloth in hand already. I'd know that voice anywhere, the gentle breathiness of it singing through my veins.

"Come in," I said, pulse fluttering on reflex.

The door creaked open.; I backed out of the range of light. Caroline was silhouetted, wet hair glowing in an almost-halo around her. She was wearing different clothes.

"Can I…?" She looked around, the bathroom surely a mess.

"My eyes are sensitive," I said by way of answer. She shut the door and gasped at how dark it became. It probably terrified her. "But if you help me, I can keep them closed."

I saw her outline shift toward the switch; my lids dropped.

Caroline moved quickly and efficiently. She didn't say anything, hands noticeably less shaky and touch close to warm. The towel was loose around me, self-consciousness replaced by utter exhaustion.

Sometimes a cut stung, or she dabbed ointment somewhere. Twice, she swiped over a stretch of skin with a clean cloth, getting the places I'd missed. I grew accustomed enough to the light behind my lids then to try opening my eyes.

The first thing I noticed was my face didn't look as bad as I thought it would. Skin was torn in some areas, swelling on my lip, cheek and jaw the most noticeable. The longer I looked, the more put together I felt then when Matt had cleaned my face. Even that awful ache in my ribs had almost dissipated.

I was suddenly aware of the unwavering heat high on my sternum. My necklace stayed glued to me, molded to the skin below it. I fumbled with the latch, already knowing what had happened before it unclasped. It glimmered on the counter.

A rush of cold swept through my bones, shaking up my insides. Caroline moved on to my face, extra careful. She lifted another disinfecting wipe packet, small pile of discarded wrappers near the sink.

Slowly, pinpricks of pain started to bloom across my face and body, bruises aching and injured finger hypersensitive. I could feel the part of the bone which had twisted too much in the wrong direction.

My skin burned hot at the points where swelling had originally calmed down. I made a face in discomfort, tear at my lip ripping open a centimeter more.

Caroline pressed a tissue to the blood which seeped out. I stared at the necklace a while before shoving it inside the pocket of my jacket.

"Care," I rasped, voice rippling through the silence. Her fingers stilled against my temple. "I know you're—that what happened tonight is processing in your head. I know you probably want to just wrap yourself in blankets in a room full of people with the lamp on and fall asleep. Talking about Elena is probably the last thing you want to happen, but…"

Caroline met my eyes in the mirror; I swallowed my next words, knowing that all of us wanted nothing more than to just sleep tonight off. Maybe this could wait, maybe we could all stay in one place and come morning, dissect the events of tonight with a fresh perspective.

The thought of Elena, bleeding and alone, cut that train of thought off. Damon had left no room for rest.

"I promised you I'd be more honest about everything. Stefan and Bonnie and I are going to talk, in detail, about what happened. I'm giving you the option of being a part of it or sitting out. I'll let you know, if you choose to sit out, what we talked about. It'll just be later—not tonight."

A bottle of pills rattled in reply. Caroline screwed the cap off, having taken it out from a pocket, somewhere. She handed me a few. "I'll listen."

It was a simple enough answer, no hesitation. Her eyes were steady, clear. I tossed the pills back and took a sip from the facet, water dribbling down my chin; light pink splattered against the pearly granite and silver drain.

"You can't say anything. To anyone. About anything you might hear."

"I promise to keep it a secret."

I smiled, cautious of the state of my face. "Thank you."

Caroline was nearly done then, applying a final strip of bandage to my cheek. I smelled of ointment and rubbing alcohol, a dizzying combination. There was nothing more I wanted then to change into clean clothes and lay down.

"I'll let you dress," Caroline said, ridding the counter of trash and packing up the kit.

"I appreciate the help."

She nodded, already opening the door, and startled so badly she tripped backwards. I moved in her direction, but she was already righting herself, swinging door revealing Bonnie.

Caroline cursed sharply, white-knuckled grip on the door frame. Her knees wobbled, face pale. Bonnie winced in apology and laid a hand on her arm.

"My dad just called," she said, voice soothing despite the news. "Apparently the school called him. He wants us home."

"What do you mean—like he wants us home right _now_?" I fumbled with my clothes, towel held up only by my sheer force of will. "We got a shitstorm coming and we gotta go _home_?"

"I tried my best to convince him to give us some time. I told him we were going to visit Elena and were with friends but—" she paused, shoulders hanging low, "—but he didn't want to listen. He just insisted he wanted us home." Her eyes flickered to the side, mouth pinched. "You know how he gets."

"What's our time frame?" I asked. There had to be _something_ we could do, even with a parent looming over us. "Do we have enough to get Care settled and an outline figured out?"

She shook her head, glancing behind her. "He said if we weren't home immediately, he was going to call the Sheriff."

I'd been changing in the corner, behind the door and out of view. I paused, half-dressed. "Shit. He doesn't know what happened, right? With—with me?"

"If he did, he wouldn't have been so forgiving over the phone. Or patient. I know I made it sound like he was angry, but he's just…worried. Very worried. He doesn't want anything to happen to us."

The shirt fit well, slightly large but not exaggeratedly so. I hobbled into view, panicked. "He's—not gonna take it well when he sees me."

"I know. But we can worry about that later. We have to go."

Stefan had been extremely understanding, even if his stare was a little too intense. He looked his age for once, wearing a hoodie and jeans, but the bags under his eyes emphasized the lack of green in his irises. He was hungry.

There was some chaos as we tried to organize ourselves. Stefan felt aloof, disconnected, but he made to leave with us. He'd watch over Elena at the hospital, make sure Damon didn't go near her. It seemed risky to have him near blood, whether Elena's or another patient's, and especially so when the council had to be in utter chaos at the moment. Two vampire attacks with survivors and even more with people dead—Stefan was still new in town and that would be enough to raise suspicions about him.

We put together a plan to text each other once Rudy was taken care of and the news broken to Caroline. Knowing we still had a long night ahead made us quick to leave, all of us bundled in a variety of Stefan's jackets.

"You think you'll be okay?" I asked, shoving the bag with my dirty clothes in the trunk. The air was chilly, lungs hurting quick and intense with every inhale.

Stefan was gentler with Bonnie and Caroline's things, muscles of his arms tense. The car rumbled to life as he straightened. "I'm not who you need to worry about."

He shut the trunk, shuffling to his own car a few feet away. I stood there, scowling at his back. _Way to be dramatic._

"I'm not saying there aren't bigger things to focus on, but that doesn't make you any less important." Stefan opened his door but didn't move inside. I inched closer, pitching my voice low. "Are you sure you won't—you know, fall off the wagon? I…I can tell my uncle that, that you're sleeping over at my place because of what happened. Or, I don't know, I'll tell him whatever I have to." I tucked my hands under my arms, shivering. "If he doesn't say no to Matt, he shouldn't say no to you."

"That's _incredibly_ kind of you, Sam. Gosh, how _did_ you find someone so generous to be your friend, Stefan?"

I turned around so fast I nearly fell. Everything was a dark blur for a few beats, the frantic scrape of multiple shoes against pavement echoing down the driveway. Damon's silhouette came into focus, dark and tall and only part of his face visible. Someone's sharp intake of breath triggered Stefan into motion; I involuntarily backed up.

"Whoa there, little brother." Damon put his hands up in mock surrender, eyeing Stefan in amusement as he advanced, making sure to keep us all behind him as he did so. Damon's face broke out in a smile at that, teeth bright despite the lack of moonlight. "Did I interrupt something? I thought your little moment together was great, by the way. Seven out of ten—if only Stefan would stop being so _broody_. It can really ruin the mood."

"Damon," Stefan warned, his voice sharper than the edge of a blade. "What are you doing here?"

The two seemed to be communicating silently, eyes zeroed in on one another. I moved to the side until Bonnie's shoulder was pressed against mine and Caroline clung to my arm, my heart beating so loudly I worried it would draw their attention to us.

"I see you cleaned yourself up." Damon's eyes raked over Stefan, predatory glint making the hair on my arms prickle. "It's a shame you tasted her blood though—right, little brother? We all know how much you can't resist human blood."

Damon took a few steps forward, back of Stefan's head blocking his face from view.

"She's _innocent_ , Damon. She has nothing to do with this."

"That's where you're _wrong_. She has everything to do with this. You'd have to be incredibly stupid not to think so."

I was frozen to the spot, limbs heavy. Bonnie had focused on me and her hands hovered awkwardly in front of her—unsure, confused, mostly afraid. Caroline's eyes were wide and unblinking; she was holding her breath, body still as stone.

I had no idea what to do, how to do it, where we could even begin. But my instincts told me to get away as fast as possible. Running wasn't an option, but the car—Bonnie's car, with the keys in the ignition and the engine purring softly behind us—was. It was five or six feet away, driver's side door wide open from where I imagined Bonnie bolted from the car; Caroline's was mostly closed, window rolled down.

"…might want to rethink where you stand. If you aren't honest with me, there will be a witch hunt after you, little brother. And it won't end well for the humans here, either."

"What do you want?" I blurted, louder than expected and high-pitched.

I felt the air stiffen as everyone's attention centered on me. Caroline squeezed my arm so hard her nails bit into muscle.

"Were you not listening?" Damon peered around Stefan's body, catching my gaze and flashing me another unsettling smile. He made a _tsk tsk_ sound with his tongue, mocking. "See, you should spend _less_ time thinking about if you can make it to the car before I snap your pretty little necks and _more_ time using some of those brain cells to, oh I don't know, _actually_ pay attention to a very, very important conversation."

He sauntered to the side, making sure he got a good look at us. I felt my throat dry.

"As I said before," Damon sighed dramatically, eyes an icy, inhuman shade of blue, "Stefan will be blamed for what happened to Elena—if, of course, you all refuse to be honest with me."

 _But no one saw Stefan covered in blood_ , I thought, wheels in my head beginning to turn. _He was with me the whole time._

"Blamed how?" I asked, trying my hardest to steady my voice. Bonnie's fingers tightened around the back of my shirt in warning. "You can't just throw threats like that around without any—any proof."

"Ah, _finally_." Damon clasped his hands together, grinning widely; something low in my gut told me we weren't the ones in control anymore, that he had an ace somewhere up his sleeve. I wondered if it were somehow possible to regret my entire existence in those few beats before he spoke again. "I was waiting for Stefan to ask the golden question—but you're a good substitution."

He reached into his jacket and pulled his hand out in a fist; Stefan's back shot ramrod straight in response before Damon could even reveal what he had.

Something fell from Damon's upturned fingers—a silver pendant swaying from the end of a chain. Even in the faint light, the subtle red stone near the top caught my eye and my entire stomach dropped.

" _Damon_ ," Stefan hissed, half-step taken forward and hackles raised. There was a twinge to his voice, almost a crack—like a hoarse scrape at the back of his throat. "What did you _do_?"

Damon chuckled in response. Caroline, Bonnie and I kind of staggered as one toward Stefan in an attempt to keep him from reacting in the heat of the moment. Bonnie and Caroline both had an arm while I fisted a panicked hand into the back of Stefan's collar.

A shot of anxiety raced up my arm upon contact with Stefan's skin, some deep-rooted instinct screaming at me to let go, to step away, to honest to godjust get the _fuck_ away from this extremely dangerous situation. I gritted my teeth and held on, sweaty palm probably dampening his shirt a little.

"He compelled her," Bonnie whispered to no one, eyes wide; my mind short-circuited after that.

"I was evening out the scoreboard. Made things interesting for all of us. I admit, I was a bit surprised. It's been a while since anyone could resist my compulsion," Damon paused, eyes gleaming maliciously. "Where'd you get this?"

Stefan shuddered, body taut like a rubber band being stretched to its full extent. "Does it _matter_?"

He shrugged. "Not really," he said, seemingly indifferent. "What I care about is you crazy kids telling me all about your _secret_ plans. Especially those that have to do with the tomb."

"You already did what you did," I said heatedly, stubbornly—brave from being mostly hidden behind Stefan. "What's the point of telling you anything?"

"Glad you asked. If you don't tell me everything you know, then Elena will tell everyone tomorrow about how it was Stefan—gosh, shocker, _right_? —that attacked her. If you do, then I'll remove the compulsion. Make her think it was an animal. And I won't kill any of you. Ideally."

Stefan glared. "We don't trust you."

"That's unfortunate, but you really have no choice." Damon pocketed the necklace, smirk slowly tugging at his lips. "You either talk, or I start killing your human friends one by one."

 _Elena thinks Stefan attacked her and when she wakes up, she'll tell everyone who it was. Stefan will be killed._

I let go of him, suddenly breathless. We were balancing on a point right now, a sharp edge where too many of us were emotional and scared and I didn't, _couldn't_ blame Stefan for wanting to hurt Damon. At this point, who didn't, right? Yet he couldn't, none of us could.

I straightened myself as much as possible, the pain at the movement fading to the background when Damon came into view.

Stefan had begun to protest, his voice booming. I circled Bonnie, her hand grabbing hold of my jacket sleeve; my pulse hammered.

"Okay," I said, looking at Stefan. "It's okay, I'll tell him."

"Sam—"

"What do you mean you'll tell him?"

"Oh my _god_."

Their words garbled together, I wasn't sure who said what. Just trying to sort them out made me dizzy.

"He's right," I said, defeated. "We don't have a choice."

"We should talk about this." Stefan's hand hovered over my arm, almost as if he was afraid to touch me. "All of this couldn't have been for nothing. We're disposable if we tell him what we know."

I hesitated, knowing he had a point but refusing to back down anyway. "Our other option is you being put on a hit list and the three of us what, killed? Maybe he'll make it look like you did that, too. There's no time for discussion here, Stefan."

Bonnie didn't let go and Stefan still hovered. We stared at each other, unblinking. I tried to communicate with my eyes that it would be okay, tried to be reassuring. A moment passed, then another. A hint of doubt creeped in, burrowing itself low in my stomach.

"Fine." Stefan wasn't in my space anymore, cold air swarming my face. He turned to Damon. "Go ahead."

A second later Bonnie's fingers disappeared; I moved forward on autopilot.

"So?" I asked Damon, nervous and not bothering to hide it. "Ask away."

I couldn't look at him directly, eyes skirting along his outline—shoulders, base of his throat, his hands. I felt like a complete and utter coward.

"Tell me what you meant that night at the Grill. I've been curious, naturally."

 _Predictable question, complicated answer. Play this smart._ "It was about Katherine, but I think you already knew that."

"I had my suspicions." Damon started pacing, tapping his chin with his index finger. "You said I was chasing after something 'that doesn't even exist'—I'd like some clarification on that."

"Well," I wavered, internally cringing. _If telling the truth doesn't kill me, anxiety just might._ "Katherine's uh, she's not in the tomb."

Damon stopped pacing. I scrambled in response. "She—okay so you know how there was that whole thing with Fell's Church and the vampires? In 1864? You thought she was trapped underground in the tomb with Emily's magic, but she's been—she's been free this whole time. She escaped before they could even put her inside the church."

"You're lying," Damon replied easily, expression dark. "You should be careful of what you say. I'll kill you otherwise."

I forced myself to meet his eyes, chilled to the bone. "I'm not lying. I-I can prove it to you. Just let me explain. That's what you want, for me to explain, right? I'll do that, but you gotta listen. Just listen to me."

He looked none too pleased, a sneer curving at his mouth. "Speak."

"Ah—" mentally flipping past unimportant and dragging details, I chose what I thought would be best to start out with, "—so I can, I can see the future. And in seeing the future, I get to see a lot of the past, too. They're connected, in a way. It's a whole mess, but it means I've seen a lot of what happened in 1864, and even farther than that—like way farther. But what matters now is 1864, because that's when you met Katherine.

"That night when she was dragged off to the tomb, she bribed someone to cut her loose. She ran after that, not caring about you or Stefan." Something slight shifted in the air, minuscule enough that I convinced myself it was my paranoia and continued rambling. "Do you remember Emily Bennett? The deal you made with her, where she would protect Katherine in the tomb in exchange for you protecting her lineage? She gave you the talisman which would let the tomb be opened in 150 years, once the same comet from that night passed again. And you hid it in the Lockwood Mansion, second floor, inside a box with a false panel. It looks like honey when the light hits it just right."

Damon stepped closer menacingly, slow enough to raise red flags. It was too calm, too calculated and completely unlike him.

"If you have half a brain, you're going to tell me right now that the talisman's in the same place."

My stomach tightened. "I…destroyed it."

Damon had me by the front of my jacket, heels completely off the ground and toes seeking solid ground. I choked, sagged within the oversized jacket.

"One move, _brother_ , and her head will be clean off."

"It's okay," I said to Stefan, and to everyone, really. "Don't interfere."

I should've expected his reaction. It would've been stupid of me not to, but there was that hope, that memory of Damon I had in mind which I couldn't forget. I wanted desperately for him to believe me and let Katherine go. It would simplify things so much, allow for preparations regarding Klaus to begin. I was afraid and weak, and I needed both brothers to believe me or else everything would crumble in place.

It seemed everything was already falling apart, though.

"Why did you destroy it?" Damon hissed, all teeth. He shook me roughly in his grip. "I should _kill_ you right now."

"I-I had to destroy it! There are other vampires in the tomb, and once it's opened it can't be closed. Katherine isn't in there, and she's the only reason why you wanted to open it. You don't care about the other vampires, and even if you did, it doesn't matter. It can't be opened anymore."

Damon glared. "Just because you knew about the deal with Emily and where I kept the talisman doesn't mean you can see the future. You proved _nothing_ to me."

"I know about Sage!" I yelled, frantic. "She's the vampire who showed you how to feed better. I know about what happened with Lexi in the 70's after you turned off your humanity. And—" I froze, something unrecognizable flickering across Damon's features. "I know about Augustine, the group that tortured you for years. I…know about Enzo, the friend you made while there."

Damon's eyes glazed over, unfocused; my feet settled on the ground. "I know you left him behind because the bars to his cell were covered in vervain. You couldn't break them, and the fire was getting closer. You turned off your humanity because you wouldn't have been able to leave him otherwise. He screamed your name as you walked away from him."

Damon let me go, the momentum enough to knock me backwards. I hit the cement pavement, hard.

The events of tonight had been building up to this exact moment. Elena being attacked, Damon finding Stefan, the fact that we all herded to what we'd thought was the safest place to talk about what happened.

I'd done what I could, threw the cards I'd been willing to deal on the table. There was a certain finality to that, to getting it off my chest. I felt relieved, almost.

I started to stand, cautious. Someone behind me was breathing heavily. I clutched my bleeding hands to my chest, waiting.

Damon seemed to be going through an array of emotions all at once. I considered moving closer to him, but fear held me back.

"Do you need more proof?" I asked instead.

I'd be willing to share more, if needed. Enzo was the biggest card up my sleeve, but there were other things, other events I could remind Damon of. I'd make sure he believed me.

My voice had snapped Damon from his trance. He looked at me, something swimming behind his eyes that I couldn't quite name.

"I do, but not for what you think."

Damon was digging his fangs in my neck before I could blink, before I could even register what he'd said. The scream in my throat died, wind knocked out of me. The ground was freezing, my blood hot—I writhed in pain.

Caroline came into view, blurry and dim. Something touched my neck, commotion in the background fading to a dull ringing. I tried to speak but coughed on blood. My eyes rolled back into my head.

In those last few seconds, I could vividly feel every pump of my heart pushing more and more blood from my body. The torn edges of my throat burned with my attempt at breathing, exposed muscle and artery fluttering in response.

The last thing I noticed as my senses dulled sharply, almost abruptly, was that I hadn't been wearing my mom's necklace.

* * *

 **...**

* * *

 **end author's note:** _yeah. so it's been a while, trust me I know. y'all have probably heard all types of reasons as to why chapters are slow to come out. I'm not really any different. finals happened, then I started working (my first job, yay!) and today's my first day of class for the spring semester. I'll be going to school and working, so I'm going to be honest and say that I don't know when I'll be able to update. I'm not giving up on the story, I'm just incredibly busy (I'm moving out soon too and that's a whole other mess). I did what I could to get this chapter out to you before I got completely swamped with work, and also before my birthday on friday! (that was subtle, right?). not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I promised myself I'd start being more positive with my writing. I'll get better with practice, hopefully. since I don't know when I'll see you guys again, I'm just gonna send y'all good vibes for 2019. let's make this year better than the last, yeah? take care everyone._


	18. Chapter 18

Caroline doesn't know what to do when Sam's body hits the ground. She screams and backs up, naturally—sees Stefan charge at Damon with something sharp while Bonnie raises her hands. She doesn't stare long enough to see what happens next.

Caroline's by Sam's body, knees dipping in the large puddle of blood. She works to remove her jacket as quickly as possible.

"Stefan!" Caroline recognizes Bonnie's voice, would recognize it anywhere, anytime. She glances up and sees Stefan on the floor, something sticking out of his stomach— _is that wood?!_ —and Damon's on his knees, clutching his head like it's about to explode. "I won't be able to hold him down for long!"

There's a blur of movement then; Caroline forces herself to press harder on the wound.

Stefan pulls the stake out, not hesitating to rush Damon. Despite Bonnie's spell, Damon struggles against Stefan's weight, snarling like a rabid animal and trying to go for his throat.

Stefan gets one wrist pinned, feeling an unexpected thrill. Damon may have been the stronger brother, something he'd proven time and time again, but Stefan—Stefan has _friends_.

And Damon's no match for a witch.

Yet, there's a nagging feeling low in his stomach. Sam's blood is heavy in the air and if it wasn't for Damon, fighting against him, then he doesn't know what would've happened. The taste of Elena still grates against his tongue, the headiest of temptations. He's worried—there's enough of Sam's blood on Damon for Stefan to conclude that his brother managed to tear a major artery. He's worried, skirting along the edge of panic induced hunger. It wasn't supposed to come to this.

Bonnie doesn't know where to look. There's Caroline, there's Stefan, Stefan _and_ Damon. She wants to see Sam's face, but Caroline's back is in the way. Bonnie barely recognizes the whimper she makes.

Her hands shake in front of her, power flowing out like she knows how to do nothing other than _this_. She feels no satisfaction or pride—only fear. She won't be able to hold Damon down for long; if Stefan doesn't manage to incapacitate him… she doesn't want to think of the possibilities.

And, almost as if the universe heard her thoughts and decided this night wasn't bad enough, Damon breaks free.

He's got one bloody hand across Stefan's mouth, and that's all it takes.

Caroline's heart seizes in her chest at the sudden commotion behind her. Dark rivulets of blood seep through her fingers, Caroline squeezing hard enough to cut off Sam's air supply. Bonnie screams and it's a shrill, short sound. It reminds her of glass breaking.

Cowering over Sam's body, Caroline doesn't turn around.

There's one achingly brief second of pure, untainted bliss before Stefan's blood vessels boil and pop beneath his skull. It distracts him from the hunger, but only enough for him to direct his attention to Bonnie. She yells something, and then Damon's above him. They're both struggling to move past the pain; Damon gets a hand around Stefan's throat just as Stefan manages to stab the stake deep into Damon's side.

"Caroline!" Bonnie feels something warm trickle down onto her upper lip. Her heart is racing, and she feels her throat starting to close up in fear. "Take Sam and get inside _now_."

She takes her eyes off Stefan and Damon for long enough to see Caroline nodding furiously and hauling Sam up. Bonnie looks away, not seeing how Caroline drops to the ground right after when an ungodly amount of blood pours forth from Sam's wound.

Caroline tightens her hold and tries again, one hand firm against Sam's neck and the other gripping Sam's torso like a lifeline.

"It's okay," Caroline whispers to Sam, holding back a sob. "You're going to be—"

She makes the mistake of glancing down. Sam's face is mostly in shadow, skin lacking its usual color. Caroline inhales, preparing to speak, but the words get lost somewhere in the process. All she sees are Sam's eyes, wide open and glassy and staring off somewhere in the distance.

Caroline doesn't register that she's screaming until Bonnie's next to her and Sam's body slips off her lap. Her head lands on the pavement, neck at an awkward angle and wound deep enough that Caroline can see the long rip in the artery and surrounding muscle. Her skin is flayed open, hanging down in strips.

Damon buries the stake below Stefan's heart like it belongs there. He wriggles it around, grinning when Stefan gurgles in response. He turns his head and watches Caroline go into shock while Bonnie wails inhumanly into the center of Sam's chest. Stefan fights, musters all the strength in his body but it's futile because the spell's stopped.

"This is on your hands, little brother." Damon pulls the stake out slowly, making sure to scrape by a few ribs. He enjoys how Stefan spasms in response. "But I'll play nice. Even though I was so _rudely_ lied to, I'll make a deal. Your friend's life for Elena's pretty little mouth staying shut."

The stake clatters to the side; Stefan takes a staggering breath in.

"You don't really have a say in this. Your friend's already dead. I'm throwing you a bone because you tried _so_ hard." Damon stands, lithe and graceful as if the past few minutes had been child's play. "You won't have to worry about Elena. Your friend on the other hand—good luck finding an excuse for the police."

" _Damon_ ," Stefan manages to say, hole in his right lung sluggish to heal. "What—"

Damon shakes his head. " _Ah ah ah_ , you don't get to do any of the talking this time. It's over, you lost. Your second witch better find a way to open the tomb without the talisman or else I'm going to start killing you off one by one. Or should I start with their loved ones?"

"Please—" Stefan starts, blood gushing from his lips. He wheezes lowly, lung beginning to clot.

Damon sighs, breaking the stake and tossing it aside. "I'll kill everyone in this town if I have to, but you _will_ open the tomb for me. Goodbye, brother."

It's all Stefan can do to stagger onto his own two feet, the knitting of his lung forgotten as the sounds of Bonnie's hoarse crying flood his ears. Caroline is unresponsive when he nears, her skin severely pale.

He doesn't know what he's doing, but he pushes on anyway. Sam's body is already cool to the touch and starting to blossom with bruises. It won't be long until she starts to smell from decay.

Stefan hauls her up, one arm supporting all her dead weight while the other guides a hysterical Bonnie inside. When he turns around Caroline is still on the ground outside.

He needs to call Sheila.

—

—

Heat seeped through the black nothingness—a welcome sensation. There was no ground, no ceiling, no real awareness of movement. There was just air, or the impression of, and the endless black landscape all around. Time didn't exist.

A hum began, soft and wispy. The heat increased, humming causing vibrations that made the black pit feel like it was rumbling to life. It built and built and abruptly crescendoed in an explosion of yellow light.

The humming filtered out and became voices, and those voices led to a group of women. I blinked—then blinked again. The movement of it, the brief tangling of lashes and temporary darkness were familiar. I blinked once more, squeezing my eyelids shut. Slowly, feeling returned. My chest rose with a shaky inhale; the manifestation of my physical form terrified me as much as it fascinated.

"Samantha Bennett," a voice called, acknowledged, greeted. I shuddered as it reached my ears, still hyper-sensitive and disjointed. A woman had stepped forward, hands clasped in front of her. "We've been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you, though we wish it would have been under different circumstances."

There was a clicking noise from my throat as I tried to speak, tongue a dry, heavy, awkward weight in my mouth. I blew out air from my nose instead in response.

"We apologize for how you must be feeling at the moment. One's soul is something that should not be tampered with." She took another step forward, hand now on her chest. "In this case, it was necessary. There's been much talk about you, dear. You're one of a kind, a gift to humanity."

I blinked, partly just to see if I could again and mostly because there was a vivid sensation of… _sensation_. My teeth clicked together and jaw muscles stretched. There was the beating of my heart, twitch of my fingers, parting of my lips. And, strangely enough, there was a ground beneath my feet.

"Wh-at?" The crack in my voice splintered through the air. The other women started murmuring to each other. "What—?" I repeated, smoother this time. "I…don't understand."

"That's why we're here. We'll explain everything."

As she said this, she retreated a few steps back, eyes on an emerging figure from the far left of the group. Everyone's heads turned slightly in the new woman's direction, a knot of anxiety twisting low in my gut.

"Samantha, how wonderful it is to finally meet you." There was a swooping in my stomach, heart dropping so violently I couldn't breathe. Esther Mikaelson stood a few feet away, smiling. "You've certainly caught our eye. You're an incredibly brave woman, and you've made us all, as fellow witches, extremely proud."

Annoyance flooded my veins, overtaking the fear. "My name's Sam." I stuttered on a breath then, the energy in the room shifting with my voice. "And I'm not a woman."

This didn't feel like the time to pick a bone with someone over name preferences or gendered terms, but everything that made me up—atoms and cells and magic—were sloshed together, confused. I felt lax and weak. Small.

"My apologies, sweet child. I meant no harm." Esther bowed her head slightly, lowering her gaze. Almost mechanically, she met my eyes again. "Watching you for these past few months has been…enthralling. You're a wonder to us all, Sam."

"I don't see what I could've done." The lie rolled easily off my tongue without hesitation or thought. The yellow light from somewhere above did nothing to ease the severity of black all around. "I'm just a witch—and a young one at that."

Esther smiled again, patient. "You feel different, have felt different for a while, now, and none of us here could decipher why. Yet, we knew you were important. This is why we guided you during your visit at the Lockwood Mansion. We have faith in your abilities."

"You…?" I trailed off, flashes of the Lockwood mansion passing by. The phantom touch, the noises, the help in finding the talisman and moonstone and covering my tracks. "That was you?"

"Yes, it was. We didn't know what you planned to do, but we understood that we needed to help you."

I nodded, distracted. That day at the mansion felt like years ago.

Esther continued despite my lack of response, saying, "Never before in history has anyone like you existed. We've seen countless things, encountered a variety of people with various skills. A lot of them were too, the first of their kind. You, Sam, and your gift of precognition are a blessing. Most witches can sharpen their abilities of premonitions, or visions—but you can see the future years in advance and that is…that is phenomenal."

"How—" I cut myself short, hesitant. A growing anxiety clawed at my intestines; the light above lost some of its warm brilliance. "I-I…don't—how did you know?"

The women seemed closer now. "We've been watching you, observing your talents," Esther replied. "We couldn't believe our eyes—the true gift of precognition! Nature and the elements blessed you with this for a reason."

 _It doesn't feel like a blessing_. "How long have you been…watching me?"

Esther tilted her head, contemplating me. "Not very long, sweet child. A few days before your visit to the Lockwood Mansion."

"Oh," I said, mind racing. "I see."

"We had been planning to communicate with you, though it had been proving difficult and tedious. While the circumstances you find yourself in are not ideal by any means, it does prove successful in our quest to speak to you."

' _The circumstances you find yourself in'._ I grimaced, a shot of dread hitting my chest. I'd died and somehow—instead of going somewhere I'd hoped, like back home—ended up here in this dark, nameless place with what I assumed to be a lineage of dead witches. One of those dead witches being Klaus' mother and leader of the group. Fucking fantastic.

"Speak to me about what?"

Esther smiled once more, the sight enough to make my skin crawl. "We were going to request your participation in a plan of ours before, but seeing as you are no longer alive, we have discussed a change. Instead of a request, we'd like to make an offer to you." The women shifted, moved closer without actually moving and I felt terribly, terribly boxed in. "We will grant you life, a second chance, with the condition that you help us with this plan."

"A resurrection?" The yellow light above morphed into something more sickly than soft, shadows creeping down and touching whatever it could. "In exchange for…me helping you with something?"

Esther nodded, an unsettling gleam in her eye. "A plan that we've all constructed; a plan meant to save the human race."

The intensity in this small, somehow endless space made anxiety pump through my veins. "And this plan is…?"

"Sam Bennett," Esther began, both of my hands held between hers. Her skin was cold and clammy and felt like rubber. "We want you to kill Niklaus and his siblings."

I jerked back, something awful bursting below my ribs. " _What_ —no! I-I can't do that."

The waves of murmuring from the women and Esther's pleased expression settled wrongly in my stomach. "Ah, so you are familiar with my children. They make an appearance in the future, I assume?" I held my tongue, panicked. "Darling child," Esther continued without missing a beat, "this is for the greater good of the earth and humanity as we know it. My children have lived a very, very long time, and have killed countless people. They are malicious and unnatural, a sin to the world. I should never have created them; it is my biggest regret."

Esther's hands were on my shoulders, firm and unrelenting. I couldn't see anything but her. "If they die, then _all_ vampires die. Even those who haven't harmed people, even those who didn't ask to be what they are. Or those that find moderation in how they feed or use their abilities. To kill them all would be—I can't do that."

"It is the only way you will be able to return home," a woman behind Esther's shoulder said, and my entire body sagged. _Did she know? Did they all know? Is this…really what I appeared here to do?_

"You're asking too much of me. I don't have the power to kill them, and I don't have the desire to." I tried to step back but couldn't do more than move an inch. _So much time spent trying to do just_ this— _go home and be where I belonged_ — _but in the end I can't even bring myself to go through with it. Typical._ "Going home—it's not going to convince me."

The woman stood beside Esther, her gaze unwavering. "Does your cousin Bonnie not matter to you? Your uncle or friends? There is so much life to live, and you deserve to live it."

"You said back home," I blurted, becoming emotional. The light was no longer bright; the black leeching its way into my vision. "You don't even know what you're offering."

The crowd looked taken aback at that; Esther recovered the quickest. "We assumed you valued your family. You died so young, with so much potential—wouldn't you like to be with them again?"

 _I do value my family_ — _both of them. But you don't even know about the second._

I struggled out of her grasp, stumbling further into the darkness. "You lied to me the second I showed up here. Why the fuck am I supposed to trust _you_?"

"We are not lying to you—" Esther began, but I cut her off.

"You said that you started watching me a few days before I broke into the Lockwood Mansion. Yet I explicitly remember some interference going on the night of Elena's accident. I blacked out, Bonnie's car didn't work, and Caroline's broke down with a tank full of gas. The weight on my chest, the fact that when I asked Matt and Elena why they didn't answer my calls, they told me they didn't _get_ any calls from me that night. Which is funny, because I must've called them each about _twenty times_."

I shuddered in a breath, winded and afraid and some type of nauseous—and then everything shattered.

There was a hand gripping my wrist, joint aching, and then weightlessness returned. The witches had been advancing, the atmosphere of the room rippling into something obscene. Violent. You could taste it in the air.

Like millions of sheets of glass came crashing down at once, the space we were in thundered and shook and light was swallowed up. Warmth returned in jagged pieces, scraping along my skin and creating slits which were soothed by whoever now had me in their arms.

"Back off, Esther. I'm not here to play nice."

There was a floor again; the sensation of being upright and air and a beating heart all flooding back at once. I was half collapsed, held up by someone with a hazy outline.

"Get your hands off the Bennett witch. She is not one of _you_."

A sharp laugh and whispers of crunching glass echoed in response. Arms around my waist hauled me up, feet slow to settle properly. "Your irrational distaste of mixed bloodlines continues to shine through, I see. You haven't changed at all, Esther."

The group of witches were still there, glittering black specs of...something scattered along the floor. Some of it was dusted from my back and hair, the gentle clatter of it as it met the ground almost musical. A complete contrast to before, to the scream-like fracturing.

"I have no _distaste_." Esther looked nothing like she did before, hair wild and eyes trained on the person over my shoulder like they were prey. "I advocate for the choosing of one singular bloodline. Loyalties cannot be split into multiple areas with matters like these."

"Yeah, well. It seems a little unfair to do that when someone isn't made aware of their options."

I blinked, the movement tired but effective in grounding me. More sensations fluttered in, ears ringing something awful and stomach turning in on itself. The place I was in felt different. The black seemingly endless walls all around were the same. The weird, absent yet present source of light from above was the same. There was something in the air which pulsed, vibrations rattling my teeth.

"We were getting to that, Olivia. Unfortunately, you've made this situation into something it didn't have to be."

The name Olivia, said by Esther with an exceeding amount of controlled venom, bounced around my skull. A record on repeat, a scratched CD which kept rewinding. It almost felt like the punchline to a bad joke, my breath stilted as if in anticipation.

"You're lucky I got here before my sister. She isn't as patient."

My head felt 30 pounds heavy, neck a weak shadow of what it was supposed to be. I tried to look up, action slow and aching. The lights cut into my eyes, as if on purpose, right when the face of the stranger holding me came into view.

Distantly, instinctively, I could feel the rumbling beneath my feet. I tried to speak but couldn't move my tongue, disoriented.

"Hold on, Sam. I've got you." The stranger's grip readjusted, tightened. "It'll be over quick."

I just managed to tilt my head up, getting an eyeful of the stranger—who wasn't a stranger, but my brain struggled to process their familiarity—when that terrible sound happened again. Except instead of glass shattering, it exploded in a frenzy. My senses fried when particles and matter burst into those small black pieces. The ground disappeared, sensation vacuuming into a vortex of just one perception.

It was like the room was reshaping, morphing to accommodate...something else. I could perceive that, the movement. The power. The breaking of invisible walls and adding of new ones.

"I will say this only once, Esther, and it would be wise to not make me repeat myself," a new voice said this, the threat in their tone reverberating beneath my skin and burrowing itself there. "Leave my daughter alone."

The tumbling of sight, hearing, taste, touch and smell collapsed over one another in its haste to hit me first. Yellow-white smeared my vision; there were now two pairs of hands on me. I had collapsed again onto...onto the stranger—onto _Olivia._ People were yelling and I could still hear the world around us shattering, fracturing, breaking and every other synonym you could think of.

One pair of hands disappeared, ground slanting; I was worried I would fall through again, become suspended into that inky darkness of nothing. But, then I was being hugged.

" _Hija, lo siento mucho. No tenemos tiempo suficiente para hablar de todo_." There was warmth and something wet in my hair and even if I could talk, I wouldn't have been able to say anything with how quickly my throat closed off with emotion. " _Pero quiero que sepas que te quiero mucho. Todo lo que hago es por ti. Siempre_."

Cells fired off, functioning. Still displaced yet semi-aware, I recognized who was holding me instantly.

There was chaos all around; people I'd never seen before were surrounding us, all chanting, all focused. Hands were raised, Latin rolling off tongues in time with one another, like a choir harmonizing.

My mom, cradling me in her arms and kissing my forehead, whispered under her breath. The ground slated again, voices rising in pitch.

"Am I _alucinando_?" I garbled out, words overlapping. I raised a shaky hand to my mom's face, heart squeezing when fingers brushed skin. "You…"

The people that surrounded us pressed in closer, shielding us from Esther and her group. Receptors in my brain lit up, started whirring. What was happening settled in my bones, realization kicking in.

" _Mami_ —" I started, breathing labored, but she shook her head furiously, brushing the hair from my eyes.

" _No hay tiempo. Tengo que hacer esto ahora mismo_." I was laying on the ground, dazed, unsure of how I got there. My mom inhaled unsteadily, cheeks wet with tears. " _Por favor, Sam, perdóname. Te va doler mucho_."

" _Que esta_ —" the rest of the sentence was swallowed by a scream, _my_ scream.

My mom's hand had plunged deep into my chest, arm lined with black veins. I gurgled but spat nothing up, no blood. Her head was thrown back, veins reaching her throat, her voice louder than all the others.

I was enamored with the sight of her, the pure definition of power. My mom, eyes blown fully white and veins bleeding into her scalp. My mom, here, existing within the same space as me, her hand gripping my heart like she was trying to crush it in her palm.

The floor dropped again, dissolved, but this time light shot from my chest and my mom illuminated from the inside out. The last thing I heard was my mom saying, " _Ponte el collar cuando te despiertes_ ," just as acid filled my veins, organs burning beneath skin and muscle.

—

—

Like a motor starting after years of disuse, dust and dirt and stiff mechanical wiring jumping to life abruptly, shakily, almost with uncertainty—my lungs expanded to accommodate oxygen and heart stuttered into a rhythm, blood singing through my veins.

I choked on a breath, desperate to get something into my lungs, throat as dry as sand and raw. I tasted blood right before I hacked it up, red wet splattering on white sheets.

A shrill scream—something you'd hear in horror movies from someone about to be murdered—clawed at my eardrums. Something broke moments after, cracked loudly in the once muffled silence.

"Caroline?" Someone shouted breathlessly, adding to the rush of noise. I struggled to open my eyes, not having known they were closed, lashes sticky and practically glued shut. "What's wrong?"

The walls were dark, but not dark like before. I could make out shadows and definition and shape. The ceiling had a fan, the deep grooves in the wood like worms trying to break free from the ground. A light in the corner, a small lamp, was the only one turned on.

"Her b-body it... _moved_. She—she made noise like...like—"

I wiggled my fingers and toes, icy in temperature but clinging onto feeling. I was laying on something soft, yet cold and wet; when I tried to shift, it clung to me uncomfortably. The door to the room was sideways, blown open.

"Oh my," someone said, whispered, in the dark. I spat up more blood until my airways were clear and I could inhale without that awful ragged sensation. "Good Lord, she's—she's alive."

There was movement, something warm touching my face. I tried lifting my hand but it ached terribly with the effort. Someone was crying, their tears mixing in with the already gross wet of my clothes.

"Her throat...it's healed." More lights were turned on, flickering to life in blinding waves. I flinched into the pillow. "Caroline, _Caroline_! I need you to focus, dear. Go downstairs and have Bonnie come. Tell Stefan what's happening, but do _not_ let him out of the cell. Do you understand?"

A shuffling of frantic footsteps followed; I instinctively relaxed.

"Dear? Can you hear me?"

 _Clothes are itchy. Need a shower. Where am I?_

"Please, Sam. Can you look at me?"

The lights were still painfully bright and obtrusive. The face I saw was blurry, but immediately recognizable.

"Oh child, thank heavens you're alive," Sheila gasped, unshed tears in her eyes and breath catching as her voice cracked. "Are you able to move?"

 _Hurts. Hurts everywhere._

"It's okay, it's okay. Don't strain yourself."

The worm-like indents on the ceiling seemed to move with a life of their own, slithering and writhing with something akin to desperation. It festered, that dark oak ceiling. Moved in time with my breathing, shifted like maggots on a rotting corpse.

Sheila blocked the view, her expression twisted into something worried, lips moving wordlessly. She leaned closer, and closer, and closer until all I saw was her, the soft wrinkles of her forehead and pinch of her brows. I stared right back, tasted something foul on my tongue as we held eye contact, both of us unwavering.

Her lips moved again and I closed my eyes, wishing for sleep.

—

—

There had not been a fraction of a second, a sliver of a moment, a hair's breadth, where I had been left alone since waking up.

There had been lots of fussing, and crying, eyes rimmed red and wet tissues and grimy hands on my face. It took them ages to let me sit up, to move my legs, to stand. Everything ached, body more bruised than a ripe, mishandled banana. I'd been told repeatedly that the only part of me that was healed was my neck. My neck, my neck, _the wound on my neck, the ripped skin and muscle and flayed artery. Do you remember? She had a wound on her neck and now it's gone. It's healed. How could it be? She's healed, alive, a miracle!_

Someone held me as I walked, another person sat me down in the restroom. Sheila was angry at something, someone, maybe herself. There was yelling, vibrations of voices which scraped at my ears. It quieted when I started to pull at my hair, overwhelmed.

"Let's get you washed up," a voice said.

"I'll help you out of your clothes," another followed.

"I-I can't believe you're alive," someone cried, sobbed into my naked shoulder. "I couldn't—I couldn't lose you."

Warm water ran down my arms, the smell of crusted blood filling my nose as if the tub was filled with old pennies. Fingers tangled in my hair, clumps of dried blood causing strands to tear from the root. A cup hovered above my hairline, pouring water onto my scalp and down my back.

Eventually I was deemed clean enough and dressed in clean clothes which fit too big. The voices kept asking questions with a soft persistence one would use on a frightened child. I ignored them, picking at the muck under my nails.

One too many times I heard Rudy's name tossed around like a less cheery party favor. Rudy _this_ , Rudy _that_. Rudy _is gonna be worried_ and _we should tell him what happened with Sam._

Tea was practically forced down my throat, not scalding but heated enough that it momentarily singed my tongue, my throat, slid warmly down my intestines until settling low in my belly. I threw it up 20 seconds later.

I banged my injured hand against the staircase railing, the pain which shot up my arm enough to knock the wind from my lungs. I collapsed on the steps, almost falling headfirst. Someone grabbed my shirt just in time though, so the worst I got was my swollen face pressed against the wooden railing. The dark, smooth railing. Blood from somewhere on my person was smeared along it, blending well with the color. No one else noticed.

After an argument (I was placed in a chair for the duration of it, the voices melding into one great big annoyed _tone_ ), I was led to another room with stairs. These went further down and were stone, cement—something cold and hard and dull looking. There was little light in this area.

"Stefan," the person holding me said, keeping me firmly in place. "Stefan, here she is."

The cellar appeared empty and dark. There were cracks in the walls and, farther down the hall, a big white box that called out to me the longer I stared at it.

"Sam," someone breathed, sound whisper-soft and gentle on my ears. "I...can't believe it. You're actually here."

Fingers guided my chin away from the mysterious white box and to a barely noticeable door to my left. A sharp exhale cut my chest as green eyes, bright in the half-dark, met mine.

"Hey," Stefan said. _Why are his eyes so bright?_ "You're okay. Everything is going to be alright."

 _You don't know that. My throat got ripped out. Your eyes are too green and you don't know anything._

"Caroline, has she spoken at all about what happened?"

"No, she's been quiet this entire time. I think she's in shock. Sheila said she's coping, and that we shouldn't bother her, but I'm still worried."

"She doesn't look well," Stefan commented, face pressed between the only gap in the door. His skin was pale and sweat beaded on his brow. "You have to take her to a hospital."

 _You don't look well either. You need to go to a hospital. A vampire hospital. Vampire rehab. You're going to fall off the wagon if you don't._

"We will. Sheila took care of Rudy, Bonnie is bringing all our stuff downstairs." A pause, a hitch in breathing. "I don't know what's going to happen with you."

"It's safer if I'm left here. I'll be okay."

"What if—what if _he_ comes back? We can't just...just leave you here, alone, locked up. He can hurt you."

"This is the safest option. I don't trust myself, Caroline."

Caroline's grip on my arm tightened so much the blood stopped flowing, nails probably leaving half-moons on my skin.

"Would you—hurt someone?"

"I...don't know. That's why I think it's better if I'm left here. We can prevent the possibility completely."

I inhaled, the kind of big breath that's taken when someone is preparing to speak. Except it felt so foreign, my lungs rattling from being out of use. I coughed, a hacking that did little to actually clear my throat.

Spitting up something thick and wet, I couldn't be bothered to properly wipe my chin. "Lexi," I rasped, partly keeled over.

"W-who—?" Caroline stuttered, startled. She patted my back, and despite the fact that it did nothing to help, I swayed into the touch. "Who's Lexi?"

"A friend." I glanced up as Stefan answered, scowling at him for some reason unknown to me. I was upset but the emotion felt strange, unnecessary. "A friend who can help."

"Oh, that's...good. You should, you should call her."

"I will."

A ringing silence ensued, walls moving in time with my breathing. The white box down the hall felt menacing, angry. The longer I looked at it, the more I was sure it was closed properly. The bulky lock was in place, the bolts and screws and whatever else the lock was clinging to was fixed to where it needed to be. The lid was flat, undisturbed. Yet, I could sense the life pulsing within, felt the vibrations of something alive.

 _He's going to fall off the wagon. Don't let him out. Don't let him out._

"Can't be alone," I said instead, the would-be repulsion ebbing away once I broke eye contact with the box. Caroline shuffled us a few steps to the right, closer to the stairs, to the exit. "Bad for you."

"Sam," Caroline whispered sharply, fear making her shudder. "We can't let him out."

"Lexi can't...come inside yet." _Where is the key? Where is the damned key?_ "We can't leave him...here alone."

"Sheila said she would take care of it." Caroline started to herd me to the stairs, breathing almost ragged. "We'll check on him tomorrow."

"It's alright, Sam. This is temporary." Stefan attempted a smile but it cracked his face oddly, completely missing his eyes. "You need to go to the hospital."

I scowled again, something hot bubbling uncomfortably in my chest. "No," I hissed, pushing back against Caroline. _Splitting up isn't safe! Don't you see?_ "You're coming."

 _Alone, you'll go mad. You'll think about how Elena tastes. How I taste. You'll claw your hair out and rip your skin._ He _wins if you do that. We can't let_ him _win._

"Sam—" both Caroline and Stefan spoke, voices mingling together in rising concern.

 _The key, the key. Where is it? Blood on our hands if we don't find the key. We'd be forcing Stefan to suffer. We're not like_ him. _We're better than that._

"I will break the door...if you don't. Unlock. It."

Nausea returned, swirls of light crossing my vision. A sudden cold seized me, tempting in its numbness but unsettling in its emptiness.

No one had moved. Caroline was still against me, unbreathing, and Stefan was a broken record of false reassurances. I closed my eyes and heard noise, something loud and ungodly in the small space. Caroline screamed and Stefan yelled and metal groaned a curse, haughty and aching, before everything stopped.

"We should go," I said, but stepped forward on unstable legs. "All of us."

Caroline helped me up the stairs, trembling and quiet. She moved quickly, head bowed yet turned enough that she could look behind us. I caught a glimpse of Stefan surveying the wreck of a cell door for a brief moment before his eyes landed on the white box. It was only for a second, and then he was behind us, stepping up into the warm glow of the first floor hallway light and closer to the voices of Bonnie and Sheila.

—

—

The examination was tedious. Hospital staff kept coming in and out of the room; they had me stand there, do that, rate how much something hurt. They asked me a million questions at once, only pausing when they turned to ask everyone else those same questions as well.

 _How long has it been since the incident? Did she hit her head? Is she going to issue a police statement?_

The hospital gown was stiff and smelled of something clean. The lights in the room were dimmed to help with my sensitive eyes. A needle was in my arm somehow, monitors beeping away and at some point I had an MRI. Rudy's voice floated inside a few times. He was speaking with Sheila.

It was 3 in the morning. I had been dead for exactly one hour, from 11:17 to 12:17. The MRI results came back and my head was fine. A wrap was put on my injured finger. My shoulder was sore but otherwise okay. It was 4 in the morning.

Rudy began arguing with one of the nurses. There was a commotion, Bonnie and Caroline and Sheila's voices joining his. I had fallen asleep at one point, and when I woke up I was in a wheelchair and being pushed down the hallway. A sweater covered my torso.

I groaned, Bonnie's head snapping to me in an instant. "We're taking you home, Sam. It's safer there."

The bright fluorescent lights washed over me. I ducked my head and groaned again in acknowledgement, head heavy from drugs and the need for sleep.

"Time?" I croaked, tongue difficult to move and the word leaving my lips partially slurred.

"It's almost 6." She tucked the sweater tighter around me. One side of her hair was pressed flat to her skull, shirt and jacket rumbled. Her eyes flickered up and to the side, careful yet slow, and I followed the movement even slower. Stefan was in front of Sheila, who was watching him intently. Something told me if he even moved too quickly, Sheila would bring him to his knees. "Everyone is going to stay at our place," Bonnie whispered, leaning down so only I could hear her. "Safety in numbers."

When she pulled back, I realized the reason for her secrecy. Rudy was the one pushing the wheelchair. He noticed me staring and gave a barely-there smiled, lifting one hand to pat my arm. "Rest, Sam. We'll be home soon."

—

—

Sometimes, when something is left somewhere to collect dust, no matter how hard you try, the dust never seems to come off. You can scrub as much as you like, spray cleaners and soap and soak it for days in water if possible, but the dust remains, stuck to the thing like it's a part of it now, as if it was always a part of it.

There were worms on the ceiling, shattering glass, that weightless dark collapsing in on itself—and as much as I tried to run, as much as I screamed my throat raw and bled out on an invisible floor, in an invisible room, in an invisible place which functioned without time and rules, it followed me. The worms moved in a frenzy, the glass cut me ragged, the dark vacuumed the air from my lungs, and I knew none of it was real but felt no comfort in that surety. Here, it was false. Anything I believed held no meaning.

And then, the scent of lavender. It was soft and sweet and like a white smoke wafting across everything bad, everything I hoped to never see again. The worms and glass and dark didn't exist anymore because I couldn't see it, couldn't smell it or sense it on my skin like a phantom touch. It no longer stained my tongue or stuffed my ears. Finally, I could relax.

Birds sang a gentle tune, whispered it through the glass and filled the room with some kind of magic. The curtains were partly drawn, buttery light spilling through wherever it could. Everything was idyllic, a small slice of perfection right in front of me. Until I attempted to move.

"Ow— _fuck_." I half-collapsed on a mountain of pillows I barely registered were surrounding me, hand clutched to my chest and pulsing angrily from the weight I'd leaned on it. There was a fresh wrap on it, index and middle finger bound together, similar to how Matt had done it.

A groan from somewhere on the floor startled me. There was a huff, some rustling, and a few scattered _pops_. Interlaced hands with the palms facing up rose, arms stretching back and another _pop_ greeting my ears. A long yawn rattled the walls, another voice muttering complaints and punching what sounded like a pillow.

"You hogged all the blankets," someone whispered in a hiss.

"Yeah well _you_ were hogging _me._ I could barely move. It felt like you were trying to suffocate me."

The first voice spluttered, voice high. "Only because you were hogging the blankets and I was _cold_!"

"Shh! Sam's still asleep."

Both of the voices hushed immediately. I knew better than to move again, the pillows barricading me in.

A flop of black hair peeked over, eyes wide and landing on my face.

"Hey," Bonnie said, expression saying more than what she allowed herself to. She blinked quickly, breathing hitched. "Good morning."

Caroline popped up over Bonnie's shoulder, smiling. "How'd you sleep?"

The room smelled faintly of lavender. I swallowed dryly, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. "Okay."

I blinked and I was suddenly in the bathroom, alone and the faucet was running. The sound rushed in my ears, blood in my veins replaced with water. My face was wet and my lip was bleeding for some reason, pink running down the drain in small splotches.

"Breakfast is ready!" Someone called, and then my face was dry and my skin felt tight—I think I forgot to put on lotion—and there was food in front of me.

The kitchen was bright, unnecessarily so, and despite the time of 3 in the afternoon, Rudy still put down plates of breakfast foods in front of us. Stefan was next to me, then he wasn't, then he was helping wash the dishes and my plate was empty and I heard the phone ringing. Ringing and ringing and ringing.

Something shattered, the roar of voices rose to a pitch that made my eardrums ache, and I was set in a car and bundled up and sometime between here and there, here and elsewhere, I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes the car wasn't moving anymore.

"I got her," someone said, seat belt clicking and an arm moving under my legs, under the backs of my knees. I stared into pools of green then, wide and red rimmed as if sleep deprived. Stefan and I made eye contact, briefly. "Is walking alright?"

I nodded and the inside of the hospital, all white entrails and garishly bright lights, hurt so much it triggered a migraine. There were sunglasses on my face and a blanket over my shoulders and someone held me close to them.

"Is it alright if we see her?"

A pause. The large clock on the wall seemed to tick louder.

"Yes, but only a few of you at a time. She's still a bit disoriented. It's best not to overwhelm her."

The chair I was in, all hard plastic and rough edges, creaked whenever I moved. I moved a lot.

The people next to me kept changing, leaving and coming back and trading spots. A styrofoam cup made its way between my palms, the cool, clear water draining over time.

"She hasn't said anything." A shadow passed over the rim of my cup, catching my eye. "I think...I think he kept his word."

The cup slipped from my fingers and hit the ground without much sound. It rolled and hit the edge of my shoe.

"He kept his word, but only because he didn't know—doesn't know that Sam's alive."

"Which is why we have to keep her hidden, for now. We have to figure out where he is."

"Stefan?" A new voice asked. "Elena is asking for you."

The cup was no longer on the floor. It was gone so suddenly I questioned if I'd ever even really had it. I stared at my hands, a pit of dread balling in my stomach. I couldn't trust myself, couldn't trust my eyes or my ears or my brain to understand anything properly—at least not right now.

Warm hands, larger than mine and lighter in tone, were squeezing my fingers. "Hey, it's me. How are you?"

I'd recognize Matt's voice anywhere, like honey on a cool day, soft and deep and always so gentle. My chest ached from the force of my reaction.

"She hasn't spoken since this morning. I don't...I-I think she's processing everything, you know?"

"So," Matt started, crouching down low enough that I got tangled up in his bright blue eyes. "You probably just want to be left alone, and I get that, I do. But before you leave and lock yourself in your room, would you like to see Elena?"

I must've nodded because I was standing in the doorway a moment later, eyes honing in on the hospital bed at the center in the room. Stefan was beside a large monitor that was beeping away, beeping and beeping and flashing different colored numbers. The first thing I saw was Elena's dark hair splayed against the white pillow, like a halo of sorts. Her face, small and pale and gazing at Stefan with an adoring smile, had me frozen.

There was a flush in her cheeks, pink and lovely and a sign of life. She laughed, the sound raspy and short but beautiful all the same. She was alive.

I stumbled forward, Matt by my side. The second Elena locked eyes with me, big brown doe eyes that were crinkled in the corners, I started crying.

Emotions I hadn't experienced in what felt like ages broke loose, cracked the dam and let the flood on through. I sobbed into the curve of Elena's shoulder, silent but shaking so much my migraine rattled around in my skull. Elena was crying too, Matt's hand soothing on my back.

"I'm alright, I'm okay. And I'm so happy you are, too."

A strangled laugh was punched from my chest, half-amused and half-pained. _I died, I died and I should've stayed dead._

After many tissues and a brief, choked and practically one-sided conversation, Matt guided me from the room, Elena's parting sweet smile a small gift.

In the hallway, with the sunglasses back over my eyes and head bowed, everyone, as one large group, made to leave. Matt promised Stefan he'd stay with Elena, and Stefan promised Matt he'd stay with me.

While waiting for the elevator, I noticed Jeremy at the other end of the hall. He glanced at our group for a second, and then went inside his sister's room.

—

—

Liz had stopped by, wanting to take my statement. I had some more food in me, some tea and painkillers and an incredibly soft blanket tucked around my spot on the sofa. Time stopped moving so quickly, but still felt sluggish all the same. Liz wanted to know if I would press charges against Tyler.

Rudy was very adamant that I do. He had this fire in his eyes that made me feel afraid despite not being the one who did something wrong. Sheila told me that I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to, but to keep in mind that sometimes people had to learn the hard way the repercussions of their actions.

I felt suffocated in the living room, surrounded by onlookers and watched like a hawk. Maybe it was the fact that I died last night, or maybe it was because everything with Tyler paled in comparison to what happened with Damon, or the witches or—

I cut that train of thought off immediately.

I gave my statement to Liz, told her what happened in explicit detail and held very little back. But, after worrying my bottom lip enough to accidentally reopen the wound, I decided not to press chargers.

Rudy was upset, tried to talk me out of it. Yet my mind was made up the moment Liz assured me that pressing charges didn't increase or decrease the chances of breaking Sophie out of where she was being held. That depended entirely on me, on my cooperation. On how far I was willing to take things to save Sophie. Which sounded dramatic, sounded like we'd be storming into the place Sophie was being held with guns blazing and justice ready to be served.

In reality, Liz said, I just had to be willing to answer any questions they had about the situation while she and her force dealt with all the heavy lifting and legalities. I'd help build the case they needed, which was by far the easiest thing on Liz's game plan.

When she left, Rudy had cooled down some and I managed to unwrap myself from the blanket cocoon. Locking myself in my room, I burrowed into the cool sheets and took a nap. At one point someone knocked on my door. Sheila stood there with what I recognized to be my clothes from the night before, the clothes I had worn to the football game.

They were mostly clean, if not scuffed up. When I lifted my shirt to my face and sniffed it, lavender and a hint of chamomile were all I could detect. No blood, no lingering coppery scent.

Although I appreciated the action, the shirt was too torn up to wear again and the jacket I'd been wearing had scraps all along the back, from where Tyler had managed to throw me aside. My jeans were only a little worn out, still wearable, so I put them in my drawer. The jacket had been a gift from Bonnie, and despite its raggedy state, I wanted to keep it. At least until I found another one that looked similar. As I folded it, scuffs in the leather catching on my skin, my hand brushed against something odd shaped. I held the jacket open, shaking it a little and having something swing loose.

I caught it mid-air before I even knew what it was, breath stuck in my throat. The floor slanted beneath my feet, and I fell knees first. It was my mother's—my—necklace. The stones looked darker in the low-light.

Sheila _must've_ seen this when she washed my clothes, must've found it tucked away in the jacket pocket. There was no residue on it which indicated it had been covered in soap or water, and it fell easily from the pocket so it couldn't have stayed inside without her knowing.

" _Quiero que sepas que te quiero mucho. Todo lo que hago es por ti. Siempre."_

I felt my stomach turn. The walls started to cave in, topple on top of one another. My sight blurred, smeared into depthless colors.

The box the necklace had came in was on my dresser. I all but crawled to it, knocking over things which got in my way. The box did not have a lock, so I wrapped it up in my torn shirt and jacket and shoved it under my bed.

The walls stopped and the tears froze on my face. I ignored the desire to bring it out, to touch the necklace, to put it on. I slept on my floor that night, as far away from the box as possible.

—

—

It was unnervingly quiet. The still air clogged my throat and settled there, making a home for itself. I rolled over, gasping, good hand clawing at my neck.

The air shifted then, rocked on an axis I couldn't see. There was a pause, a barely perceptible passing second, before oxygen forced its way in my lungs. With the force of my exhale, the wetness on my cheeks made itself known.

It smeared along the backs of my hands, leaving trails down my face and across my eyes. I could even taste it on my lips.

The clock was nearby somewhere, but whatever it had to show in glaringly bright red numbers made no difference. I wouldn't be going to school for a little while, anyway.

I was alone, Caroline and Bonnie sleeping in Bonnie's room, Rudy in his, and Sheila and Stefan outside, in the living room. The emptiness within these four walls rattled the marrow in my bones. I kicked the blankets away and clipped my ankle against my dresser, forgetting momentarily that I was sprawled out on the floor, on a mountain of pillows and blankets and two old yoga mats stacked on top of each other.

I sat up, flashes of my dream streaking my vision. Esther's face and my mom's voice melded together, burning bright in the dark.

The day passed by slowly. Sheila had to bring me food because I wouldn't leave my room. No one went to school; Sheriff Forbes gave Caroline the leeway of missing a few days because of what happened.

I took painkillers when needed, slept most of the time, and most importantly: stayed the fuck away from my bed. Despite the medication, bits and pieces of what I saw after I died came back. Most of it was out of order, and some didn't make any sense, but the images were still there. I saw my mom, felt that burning pain in my chest. I remembered vividly how it felt to fall.

Through the door, I could hear snippets of conversation. It was so quiet in my room that at times my heartbeat was all I heard. Most of the time there was whispering, attempts made at being discreet. With less important things, things I already knew about, normal speaking voices were used.

One thing I overheard was that Lexi would be arriving tomorrow. Until then, Stefan was to stay always in the presence of Sheila. This was mentioned offhandedly while Rudy was out buying groceries. I hadn't even considered what Stefan must've been going through.

I showered at some point, when the least amount of people were outside. My hair no longer had blood in it, the strands clean enough to be squeaky. It finally smelled of my shampoo, finally slipped through the fingers of my one good hand easily.

Nighttime came again. Everyone stayed; I could hear them getting ready for bed outside my room. Using a hanger, I pushed the box further under my bed, until it pressed against the opposite wall. I fixed my makeshift bed and stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep.

Before I knew it the sun was painting the walls shadowed colors, blinds drawn tightly shut. Breakfast was small but enough that the painkillers I took wouldn't upset my stomach. Yet it didn't make my hunger stay away for long. Two hours later, my stomach growled and I could feel a dryness crawling from the back of my throat.

Only Caroline was in the living room. She was dozing off, a book I didn't recognize in her lap. The kitchen was almost too bright, but ripe with food. The fridge had some takeout, some leftovers from yesterday's dinner. There was a glass bottle filled with water in there, too. Cold and tempting, front and center.

I grabbed it, had it open before I even registered the motions. I'd almost finished drinking it when I realized I wasn't alone anymore.

"There are some sweets in the pantry. I bought your favorites."

Sheila—and Stefan, I noticed—stood in the entryway. A box of cookies rested in Sheila's hands. _Ah,_ I thought. _A trap. And a good one, too._

I grunted in response, wondering vaguely if they had spiked the water with 'stop being a moody bitch' juice. Because if they hadn't, then I wasn't talking.

"How are you, dear?" Sheila asked.

I reached for the container of pizza, already planning my escape. _Do the bare minimum until all the food is heated and then bail._

"Hungry," I said, punctuating the single word with the _beep beep beep_ of the microwave as I entered in the time.

"Are you in any pain?"

I shook my head on reflex, rifling through the pantry for something else other than what Sheila held in her hands.

"Sam." It was Stefan's voice, husky and low, almost pleading. I gave up on the pantry and started filling up the glass bottle with more water. "Can we talk?"

Flight kicked in. Abandoning food suddenly seemed like an extremely appealing option. I carefully considered my response, good hand shaking. "I'm...tired."

"Honey," Sheila walked up to me, setting her palm on my trembling wrist. "Please," her eyes were gentle, too gentle, "let's talk."

The walls started moving, pushing inward. Distantly, the microwave chimed. The bottle almost slipped from my grasp. "I-I—can I...can we do this later? Don't feel good."

"You haven't said more than a few words for days. We're all worried about you, especially considering the situation. We need your help."

"No," I whispered, and flinched at the harshness of my tone. "Not...right now," I continued, easing my voice into something softer, "I just need some time. A little...bit more time."

I maneuvered around Sheila, forgetting the pizza. My chest felt tight, felt wrong. I couldn't bring myself to look at Stefan as I passed, couldn't bring myself to do anything other than go to my room and lock the door.

I started crying before it was even closed, felt my breath catch and legs crumple. The rational part of my brain told me to just be honest, to tell everyone what happened, what I saw, when I died. And as much as I agreed, it still did nothing to quell the screaming, delirious part of my brain that didn't want to comprehend the muddled, confusing flashbacks. Didn't want to look too closely at the memory, now burned into my skull. Didn't want to think, period.

A small part of me knew I wasn't being myself. Well, that wasn't true. I knew, but it was all of me. All of me knew that I wasn't myself. It was a fact, indisputable. Everything felt off ever since I started breathing again. The ground wasn't flat beneath my feet, the air didn't flow right in my lungs, my heart beat irregularly.

I hated it, hated all of it so much and I didn't really understand why. My skin was too tight, blood ran too hot. I had thought about mentioning it to someone but couldn't get past the alien feeling enough to even try.

And it was more than before, more than when Sara was here, sharing a headspace with me. Before this body felt like someone else's; I was borrowing a mass of skin and muscle and bone for a while. And even when Sara disappeared that didn't feel...permanent. I couldn't trust that I still wouldn't be tossed out of this world the second whatever mysterious reason for me being here was accomplished.

But now, ever since I came back, it was like my nerve endings were constantly buzzing with feedback. Feedback which was relayed to my brain through eighty megaphones. It was overwhelming, exhausting. I could barely think without clawing my ears off.

The longer I sat on the floor, surrounded by scattered pillows and lumped blankets, the louder the panicked screaming in my head became. I balled myself up, hissing as the noise scraped at my eardrums.

 _No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not the time, not the time, not the time to think about this or that or anything._

I accidentally banged my head against the handle of my dresser. The entire thing shook, trinkets rattling. The glass bottle, knocked over by my knee, rolled away under the bed. I gripped my head in my good hand, staring after it.

If this was a movie, ominous music would have started playing. I shoved myself away from the dresser, the screaming momentarily paused. I held my breath; the water bottle _thudded_ against the box.

Sighing, long and loud and tiredly, I stood slowly and turned to face the dresser.

Sliding one of the drawers open, the box that I'd placed what my mom left to me looked just how I'd left it. It didn't take long to find what I wanted; the last, still sealed letter my mom wrote to me was near the top, waiting for me to be ready to read it. And it was time.

Hija querida,

At last, this is the final letter. I do hope I have explained everything in the previous letters properly, and that you are well on your way to mastering magic. I waited until now to explain the magical properties of the talisman because it is the most _important_ out of all the things I left for you, as well as the most helpful. Firstly, the spell, like I mentioned in the first letter, is one I made myself. From what I am aware of, no spell like this one has existed before, and therefore it is an experiment of sorts. Your grandmother promised me she would perform it, and I know she will do well.

As you already know, the talisman allows you to channel my power and spirit, my energy as a whole, for whenever you find yourself needing a boost or are in danger. Other than channelling power, this amulet is also for protection. Due to the nature of the amulet and how powerful it can make you, I have spelled it in ways that prevent it from being taken. The talisman cannot be taken off by anyone other than you. Your hands have to undo the clasp willingly. If someone attempts to remove the talisman from your person, or attempts to harm you in general, then they will be hurt. Not killed, just hurt. It will only be enough that they are minorly incapacitated, and you can gain the upper hand. The necklace loses its magical properties once it is no longer in contact with your skin. So if you happen to lose it or it is taken while you are not wearing it, then it cannot be used by someone else. It is bound to you, and only you.

Lastly, the talisman will heal you of any wounds you have, as long as you continue to wear it. It will do this slowly as to not draw unwanted attention, but fast enough to prevent infections and anything which might incapacitate you permanently. Though I cannot say the talisman will prevent death from fatal wounds or even resuscitate you if you do happen to die, I plan to put my entire soul in this talisman to ensure your safety. Your grandmother will do her best to complete the spell, hopefully accomplishing all of what I desired. I understand if not everything works according to plan, but I can assure you that most of it will.

The reason I decided to create the talisman goes beyond that of just my death. Of course, that is part of the reason, but it is also because I knew, from the moment you were born, you were destined for great things. Perhaps every mother would say the same for their children, but this was more than motherly love. It was instinct. It was something which alerted my intuition that had been built on our ancestors, on all the witches before me. I simply knew, and always understood that I had to do whatever possible to give you the best protection and preparation I could.

I have done what I can up until this point and have ensured that, even in death, it will be as if I am still alive because I will always, always protect you. If possible, I recommend that you never remove the necklace from your person. The stones and leather cord cannot be damaged, so there is no need to worry. I do hope the future is bright for you, and I do hope, despite everything, that your journey will be a safe one.

There is so much to say...but none of the words seem right. This is not really a goodbye, even though it feels that way. You will forever have me with you, close to your heart. If you ever feel alone or lost, just remember that. Te amo muchisimo, hija. Cuidate, por favor.

* * *

 **...**

* * *

 **end author's note:** it's been five and a half crazy and busy months but I'm back! this semester almost took me out, what with school and work and a bunch of other life things getting in the way. I'm also preparing to transfer to a 4-year from my current 2-year and let me tell you, having to go through this process twice was not a lot of fun. okay maybe a little, but that's only because the 4-year is close to home and I have a lot of friends that are going there. and I'm learning how to drive! finally. my driver's test is next month and I'm really looking forward to it. this entire note is a mess and I'm sorry for that but I just. a lot has happened, most of it good, and I'm just in a really awesome place? and even though it took me so long to update, I'm really happy that this chapter is out. I hope y'all like it! I chose the worst spot to leave as a cliffhanger (boo me, I know) so this is very much deserved by everyone. thank you for staying with me and sticking with this story. hope everyone has been well! oh, and a sidenote. I hate to say this (and from now on it'll be implied) but updates will be slow from here on out. like, probably as slow as this past one. i'll always try my best to stay on my toes and write when I can, but life can get in the way and I never want to feel like I'm forcing myself to write, you know? especially since this is something I want to get better at. ah, as always I'm rambling. i'll stop now aha. see y'all when I see y'all!

((also oh my gOD has anyone watched good omens? this show has absolutely ruined me and I will never be the same. my life is just good omens now and i'm dressing up as crowley for halloween and my girlfriend will be azi. we trash and we goin' down with this ship y'all))

[translations]

Hija, lo siento mucho. No tenemos tiempo suficiente para hablar de todo ~ Daughter, I'm so sorry. We don't have enough time to talk about everything.

Pero quiero que sepas que te quiero mucho. Todo lo que hago es por ti. Siempre ~ But I want you to know that I love you very much. Everything that I do is for you. Always.

Am I alucinando ~ Am I hallucinating?

No hay tiempo. Tengo que hacer esto ahora mismo ~ There's no time. I have to do this right now.

Por favor, Sam, perdóname. Te va doler mucho ~ Please, Sam, forgive me. This is going to hurt you a lot.

Que esta— ~ What is—

Ponte el collar cuando te despiertes ~ Put on the necklace when you wake up.


End file.
